This was puzzling.
This was alarming.
Slates were cascading from the 115 year old roof
into our narrow side access to the garden.
See how the top shard
resembles a guillotine blade?
Time to get another bloke in.
A bloke with a ladder
and big boots.
But this one didn't speak blokish.
He was courteous, articulate, prompt,
reasonably priced, didn't bring a radio,
and only wanted one cup of tea.
The tricoteuses can put away their needles.