Volunteering at Hengistbury Head.

I have a confession to make. I didn't go to the volunteer session this Thursday. It wasn't raining ( I have already declared myself 'out' for rainy days); or too cold (not really a fan of being chilly OR wet). So why didn't I show up? Because we were scheduled to cut gorse. Have you ever cut gorse? I have (was tempted to say 'of gorse I have' but I expect you'll be pleased that I resisted); anyway, it's not nice. It's prickly, malevolent stuff. The minute you approach with the shears it seems to spring to life, determined to inflict as much damage on you, as you are planning to inflict on it. When the battle is over you spend the rest of the week extracting thorns from your hair, your skin and your clothes. So- no cutting gorse for Moi, thank you very much.

But I don't want you to think I'm a complete wimp. I showed up last week. And while it didn't look like hard work at first- we were to demolish a large rhododendron bush- I managed to fall over twice, sweat through three layers of clothing and get bopped on the head.

The bush was growing half way up a steep embankment. Two of the men expressed extreme hatred of rhododendrons. They  were thrilled and couldn't wait to get started. They happily scrambled up the slope. Clinging on with the agility of mountain goats, they vigorously hacked away at the branches which they then hurled down to the rest of us below, for pruning, so they could be burnt more easily.  These 'branches' were each the size of a small tree. As they worked it became obvious that they found it fun to see how fast they could make us below dodge out of the way of each flying log.

And then, 'bop'; one landed on my head.

Once the stars had returned to the sky, I politely suggested to the enthusiastic man with a saw that maybe shouting 'Timberrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!' would be more effective if it was uttered BEFORE said piece of lumber was already airborne.

He was suitable chastened.

Next week, we get to pull up ragwort. Now that sounds a lot less dangerous.