I, Dinnie the Pooh have had a fleeting forage in the world of gardening recently (not by choice I hasten to add) and have come to the conclusion that, as I have always suspected, gardens are evil. Pure evil.
Exhibit A: My poor, poor papa has cut his finger off and by this I don't just mean a cut that could use a plaster or even a few stitches, oh no this little piggy has been beheaded, severed, mangled...whatever you would like to call it...so only a stump remains. evil
Exhibit B: I fell into a pile of nettles. No description necessary really. However getting someone who has absolutely no balance to carry a humongous load of cut grass down a steep uneven path is a recipe for disaster. MILD TRUNCAL ATTAXIA!
Exhibit C : I dropped a stone on my foot. Again this needs no description but it really hurt and I was limping around for at least half an hour afterwards. Again evil
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