I’m cutting down a tree today, because it’s right up against the house and it’ll set the place alight if a forest fire comes this way. It makes Fortress Mortimer indefensible, and it has to go. Two hundred houses got burned down in this area last year, so I’m feeling a little cautious about that kind of thing. 

So I’m up the tree, past the lower branches you can reach with an extension ladder, with a saw, being a lumberjack. (“Is it an electric saw?” “No, it’s an acoustic.”) Thing is, the building regulations were changed since this house was built, and now I couldn’t afford to re-build it.

Since I’m doing all this butch stuff, maybe I should do a domly nude calendar. Me in boots and nothing else, cutting down trees, building things, and waving my goolies at the camera. Or maybe I shouldn’t. What I am doing, is some emotional healing and some practical projects. 

Two weekends ago I built a compost bin, for holding grass clippings and garden waste, so they rot in peace. It looks like this.

I told the neighbours, while I was building it, that it was a pen for Esmerelda, the pig. I think they may have believed me, and that’s a worry. Do I look like a man who keeps pigs?