My left boot

Four or five years ago, m'sister was visiting from England and we went to Red Mills for some mmmm good sheep-muesli and a bucket. I was between Lidl-special gumboots, and Sis mocked my cheapskatery until I purchased some top-range Bekina (Belgian) Wellingtons . . . because I was no longer an impoverished student and what else - go faster car [χ] cruise holiday [χ] silk undies] [χ] - was I going to spend my money on?A couple of months later I was trimming back the hedge we planted in the 00s along the boundary with Toxic Neighbour. Happy out! Because I was not only winning a long, 3m wide strip of meadow for sheep food; but also saving a bunch of wrist-thick hazel Corylus avelanna and blackthorn Prunus spinosa branches. Walking sticks, shillelaghs, firewood, as you ask. For the pieces-of-twig-too-small-keep [see also string], I pushed the brash back into the hedge - for habitat. Regrettably, I channelled my inner kick-boxer and used my boots rather than a pitch fork for this task. Next…