Mum has a real fire.
Due to a combination of factors including disorganisation, the gas board, no special offers and slackness I have not ordered mum any heat logs this year.
But a quirk of fate – well, no, a quirk of my dad not being able to pass stuff up – has meant there has been a massive pile if wood in mum’s garden for quite a while.
And that little woman has been going back and forth recently movibg the wood from outside into the garage. And today I went to cut it up smaller so it would fit in the burner.
Unfortunately, by moving all the wood mum has cut off access to the circular say I intended to use to cut the branches down to size.
So I’ve been tackling the big stuff with an axe.
It always looks idyllic and romantic in the movies, chopping wood. Mine, not so much. I spent quite a while with the axe just stuck in a log. I couldn’t shift it. You never see that in the movies – waving around an ace with a log firmly attached.
Movie wood splits beautifully. Mum’s wood was littered with cracks and fissures – I reckoned it would be a dream, the logs falling to an axe blow.
I had to hammer the axe through the wood. You do not see that in movies. With good reason, I think. It can really ruin a moment.