Can't hardly see out of me shrubs these days. What 'appens is, we get a few days of sunshine then a lot of rain, and before you can say snail the garden's shooting up like the blooming beanstalk. What with brackens and buttercups you could lose a small child or a dog in there. Come to think of it, 'er's five foot three and you could lose 'er in it.
Last night, she wanders out with a glass in her hand. Not a pair of shears, a glass. She settles herself down and says - isn't it lovely sitting out here on a summer evening! Scuse me, missus, isn't lovely sitting out here on a snail with a cotoneaster halfway up his shell and bracken on me 'ead! Like being in a blooming jungle.
If you see 'er, tell 'er to stop sitting around in the sun and get out and sort her garden. And I wouldn't mind a change of direction, neither.
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