Licking my wounds from this afternoon's wrestling match with a pyracantha, aided by a large medicinal Peroni and accompanied by the Hissing of Summer Lawns.
It's amazing how the wounds inflicted by this thorny beast of a shrub don't become apparent until long after you've packed away the tools and chilled out with a beer. It's then that the scratches up the arms, the thorns under the fingernails and the puncture wounds in the fingertips really start to make their presence felt.
Why do so many people plant the bloody things? Every single house I've ever lived in has had at least one...
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