and there's some twerp with a leaf-blower in the garden next door. As fast as he's blowing them away, they're getting blown back. I sometimes wish I were one of the vegetables, then I would notice this kind of thing. Since making this thread I've been watching him in disbelief; as far as I can tell he's trying to blow them into one place so he can sweep them onto a shovel, then put them into a black bag, but having done that to upto a point, by the time he unhitches himself from the machine's harness and picks up the broom and shovel, there are none to be picked up because they've all blown away. I mean, what's going on in his brain while he's doing it? 'There's now s'queer as folk, young Cerby.', as my nanny used to say when she dandled me on her knee.