Fifty years ago, or so, someone decided to plant a Cypress tree. Or, a bird ate a seed of the said tree, plipped and this one fell on fertile ground and grew. Either way, it was in the wrong place.

Or was it? Maybe it was the right place and maybe the barn, the straw store and the leylandii hedge and the garden tool shed alongside it were placed where they were with ne’er a thought for the implications half a century on. We inherited cones dropping, dead needles dropping, dead branches dropping, in fact all manner of droppings including pigeon nests, half-matured pigeon squabs (which duly died, they’re not good parents) and bird droppings. That’s apart from sticky pine residue covering everything. On the plus side it was a home for squirrels, magpies, and all manner of other birds nestled in the mass of ivy covering it. In itself another minus point.

Any road up. A quote was duly obtained. And a timescale agreed – “when I can”! All was well until storm Darragh which moved the rootball and gave the tree a list to starboard (or port, depending on one’s orientation – not that orientation).

At some point in its relatively short life it had been “topped” which spawned side leaders including one particular hefty one which increased the windage to the point that a tipping occurred after one hefty blast.

So down it had to come before the next weather event. Down is easy to say but harder to achieve. It could be dropped in an adjoining field but the leylandii hedge was in the way, or was it? Careful measuring established that the trees we re just the right distance apart to accommodate the cypress trunk – sort of. Dear reader, I have to tell you that Sean, the tree fellah got it bang on!

And there it still lies as the ground is too saturated to remove it.