Look at the state of our hedge. All up the driveway. It’s never been cut properly.
Mrs Iris Witten was talking to her husband, Rodney.
You work as a professional hedge cutter, and look at the state of the hedge on our driveway. Everyone else has beautiful manicured hedges and ours is a mess. It’s typical. You never lift a finger to tidy the hedge on our drive.
Rodney had a big tractor with one of those extendable arms with gigantic whirling blades. It could cut through hedge branches like they weren’t there. With his wife nagging all the time he might as well trim the hedge, even though it didn’t really need doing. His wife came to watch.
You’ve missed a bit there, Rodney. It’ll be an eyesore. You haven’t missed bits when you did the neighbour’s. And is that bit there quite straight? The neighbour’s hedge is perfect, so why are you doing a sloppy job with ours?
Rodney moved the arm of the cutter back.
Over here! Over here! instructed Mrs Iris Witten, pointing to a bit of hedge near her that she thought looked crooked. Over here! Over here!
There was no way that Calvin would cut the hedge. His wife went on and on about it.
“It stops the chilly winds blowing in from the snow-clad mountains,” said Calvin.
“It stops us seeing the spectacular view of the snow-clad mountains,” said Gillian.
Since it was Calvin whose task it was to cut the hedge, the hedge grew tall.
Then Gillian and Calvin moved away. Gillian’s job demanded it. They didn’t sell their house; they rented it out through an agency.
“You do realize,” said the rental agency man, “that if you cut the hedge and could see the spectacular view of the snow-clad mountains, you could charge an extra couple of hundred or so dollars a week. People will pay through the nose for a view like that.”
The hedge was cut down before lunch. To hell with the chilly winds blowing in from the snow-clad mountains.