Open Gardens

Last weekend some of the houses in our village opened their gardens to the public, and my FH and her OH (which means "other half", not "old human") couldn't resist having a look. I wish I could have come along and visited some of my bench mates, but I think it would have looked a bit silly, if my humans had carried me through all those gardens. So I just have to make do with what my FH and the bird messengers told me.
One of the gardens belonged to a house which stood empty. It's in a lovely quiet street, and the house and the garden would be ideal for my humans. But it is not for sale, and even if it was, the price would be shocking.

Talking about shocking, my FH told me about a bench which is for sale at our local garden shop. It's one of those terribly uncomfortable metal things without a soul, and it's in a disgraceful state. The paint is flaking off everywhere, it's rusty and it just looks really sad. And guess what? They want £485 for it. That's five times as much as I cost when I was brand new and even more beautiful than I am now. And the worrying thing is that there are people who are willing to pay this price. First they have some posh food at the garden shop's restaurant, where half of the menu is in French or Italian, and then they look at all the rusty clutter from some French or Italian skip. Maybe they put something into the food to make people want to part with their money more easily.

This is the empty house my FH likes, from the front and from the garden. And below is a photo of that hideous thing that dares to call itself a bench.