This is not my hedge. My hedge is hated by my really really old neighbour. She has nothing in her life beyond curtain twitching and moaning about anything and everything.
She moans about my hedge. She even moans about my landline answerphone outgoing message, which she only calls when she wants something, like to moan about my hedge. Imagine the confusion, trying to call to moan about the hedge and you get a ridiculous answerphone greeting that distracts you from your original moan about the hedge. Well, it makes us laugh.
We never answer our landline phone. It only exists historically because you needed a phoneline in order to have broadband. And in case of some major disaster making our mobile phones inoperable. Only two people ever call our landline. Firstly, call centres who are convinced we are Mr Evans and need whatever they are selling, despite us being registered with the Telephone Preference Service as people who do not want spam calls. And secondly, our neighbour wanting to complain about our hedge.
You see, our hedge, which goes nowhere near her property, but is growing significantly high in order to protect our property from the prying eyes of people walking the nearby road, is a bit, well, to be fair, ‘unkempt’.
Our hedge annoys our neighbour. Oh, and the fact that our blinds are drawn night and day. Not that she wants to look in or anything, but it’s not natural, apparently.
So, it was with great relish that we passed this hedge. This is not my hedge. I have no idea who owns this hedge. I have no idea who designed this hedge. But I love this hedge.
It is truly inspirational. And it has given me food for thought when it comes to my own hedge. My neighbour will hate it. Mwahahahaha!
England's England 
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