She’s A Few Berries Short Of A Patch

When we bought our last house, it came with a run-down side plot of land. It looks like it was a garden once upon a time, but now it is overrun by plants, rubbish, old bits of burnt cars, and spray paint.

We clear the land and cut back the jungle of weeds. While I am sweeping the remaining broken glass and filth, a little old lady appears at the entrance.

Woman: “Oh, it looks so much better.”

Me: “Thanks! It took a lot of work. It’s all going to be—”

Woman: *Interrupting* “This used to be [Stranger #1]’s garden, you know?”

Me: “Oh, really?!”

Woman: “[Stranger #2] and I used to come down here and pick the blackberries. It would make him so mad. Right over there.”

She points to the mass of blackberries growing up a wall.

Me: “Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t want anyone picking them now with all the broken glass around.”

Woman: *Suddenly sour* “Well, you would say that.”

She storms off.

I don’t know what to think, but to be honest, I’m glad our little “chat” is over.

That weekend, the builders fit a temporary fence around the garden to allow for excavation and scaffolding. I get a call from the builder the next day.

Builder: “There’s some lady here trying to get into the garden; she is now saying you gave her permission? We can’t let her in; the whole ground is dug up.”

Me: “What? I didn’t… Oh, is she an angry-looking pensioner?”

Builder: “Well, yeah.”

Me: “Tell her that they sell blackberries at the supermarket.”

Apparently, she screamed and shouted at the builders but still tried to get in several times while all the work was carrying on, despite being told repeatedly that it wasn’t safe and no-one could get the blackberries.

We even had the police turn up, but they quickly understood once we explained that she had no right to be there.

When all the work was done, we had a locked, sturdy gate fitted. I still see her once in a while on the cameras trying to force her way in.