Land Dis-Owner.

I caused no end of chaos for Carole today as I left the house just as the post was delivered. I glanced at it, thought it looked a bit odd and left for work.

Then, obviously, text Carole to say it looked a bit odd. And then started overthinking everything.

We’d – I say we, it was actually she – recently had a letter from Bradford City Council about some land which Carole allegedly owned. They were writing to her to say she needed to sort out the overgrowing bushes and deal with the mud that was being washed into the road otherwise they would do it and bill her substantial amounts for the work.

Carole does not own land in Bradford.


I thought she was a secret property magnate. But no. She’s not. One house, in Huddersfield, with secret problems scattered about its walls. Not some great sprawling patch of – presumably muddy and tree-y – land in Bradford. More’s the pity.

We’d not really done anything about it. Carole rang Bradford Council when we first got the letter, and they didn’t really seem to give a shit. Other than that it was just forgotten.

And then when we got the weird post this morning, I started thinking it might have been them. The council. Or agents acting on behalf of the council. Trying to get back the huge amount of money it had taken them to trim Carole’s bush. That wasn’t actually Carole’s bush.

Which led to her spending some time on the phone to the council again who admitted they’d screwed up (and destroyed my land-owning dreams) and then patronised her greatly by calling her sweetheart and refusing to put anything in writing to say they’d buggered up.

And then it turns out that the weird post wasn’t weird at all. It was just a statement from her workplace pension.

Hey ho.

Still, at least the fear that the bailiffs were going to come and take away the book cases spurred her into action when it came to dealing with Bradford Council. Because we’d kind of just decided to ignore that and it could quite easily have come back to bite us in the arse. Well, I say us. Just Carole and her vast acreage.

I mean, she obviously hates me for the emotional turmoil I put her through with the words “you’ve had some weird post” but in my defence I could see numerical values through the address window and none of them looked like good news.

That’s my excuse.