The conjunction of eight cubic metres of heart-stoppingly expensive wood in a large truck with a small gateway was transforming. The crisp brilliance of the morning metamorphosed into a day of drudgery.
The holly hedge swiped the truck’s wing mirror and the truck tray crunched into the deanery gatepost. Blinded, the driver stopped: the truck lodged between driveway and road, squarely beneath a low overhead cable; a cable so low that the tray could not fully tilt to dump the wood. So, he tilted till I bellowed ‘stop!’ when the tray brushed the cable. A paltry spill went on the driveway to block the gate. Then the truck heaved away from the splintering gatepost and the rest of the load cascaded into Every Street.
The rest of the day was passed tossing wood. By 4.00pm Every Street was liberated and decorous once more. In the deanery driveway was a massive heap of wood, carefully sited to allow the gates to shut and to keep Mackenzie and Dunstan (the dogs) inside. Not quite how I had planned the day.