My sister and I had a very unusual upbringing. Our brother wasn’t born until I was nearly sixteen and my sister was eleven. Until then, my father compensated by getting us to do the DIY and the ‘manly’ jobs around the house.
Fast forward to the present day and what do I get my little sis for Christmas? That’s right, a chainsaw. Oh the joy when the gales knocked over a huge beech tree in our lane. We now have fire wood for the next two years. But that’s not why I’m writing this. I’m writing to tell the world that my sister has named her chainsaw Johnny Rotten. She says it chews through the logs like a hot knife goes through butter and the real Mr Rotten advertises… butter. Oh, that clears that up then. It also explains why, when she puts it away, she says ‘Thank you, farmer’s wife.’
Do you think that tree clonked her on the head when it came down?