Shades of Freud

[Diver]

First read of that advert I interpretted as:

Kill trees, Stumps, brambles, nettles, deep rooted and woody weeds, Children & pets............

Two teaspoons a day for a week should do it

[TykeMerc]

http://www.wilkinsonplus.com/invt/0263127

Ska is your friend

First read of that advert I interpretted as:

Kill trees, Stumps, brambles, nettles, deep rooted and woody weeds, Children & pets............

[Diver]

Going back to the gardening bit - can you tell me how I can kill off a wisteria tree stump ?

I've sawn the bugger down to its stump but it just keeps growing back. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with.

http://www.wilkinsonplus.com/invt/0263127

Ska is your friend

[LittlestHobbo]

an inch of copper pipe hammered into the stump should do it

[EternalOptimist]

Going back to the gardening bit - can you tell me how I can kill off a wisteria tree stump ?

I've sawn the bugger down to its stump but it just keeps growing back. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with.

kill these off in the same way you kill off yew stumps

[Bob Dalek]

Going back to the gardening bit - can you tell me how I can kill off a wisteria tree stump ?

I've sawn the bugger down to its stump but it just keeps growing back. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with.

If it's a big-ish stump and next to any building (like the house) then leave it. Else, set it on fire and if anything bad happens, blame the local tearaways.

[moorfield]

Going back to the gardening bit - can you tell me how I can kill off a wisteria tree stump ?

I've sawn the bugger down to its stump but it just keeps growing back. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with.

[Bob Dalek]

Many years ago , my dad had an allotment. He grew all kinds of stuff, potatos, cabbage, salad veggies, cane fruit and his pride and joy, prize tomatoes in his greenhouse. I helped him from an early age and became quite adept at the old cultivation malarkey. One of the biggest jobs was to keep the weeds down, especially on the borders so my dad picked up this mini flame-thrower type device. You filled it up with paraffin, pumped up the pressure, then burned the weeds out , rather than digging them out.
During school term time, I would often nip to the plot at dinner time to water the tomatoes, and now and then, flame the triffids.

There was this lad in our street Kev, who was a couple of years older than me. He was hard as nails and was always in trouble, he was scared of nothing, except his dad, who was a proud man, and ruled his kids with a rod of iron. Kev was a total bully and we were all terrified of him, one day he had a go at my best friend , over nothing, he put him on the ground and kicked him full in the mouth. Ver ver nasty.

One day there was a bit of excitement at the allotments, a lorry arrived with a cargo of planks, the chap across the way was planning to build his own shed from scratch. The chap worked as a carpenter, so everyone was interested, if he did a good job, maybe we could all get one. One of the problems with sheds on an allotment is rats. They get underneath to nest and can become quite a nuisance. The solution was to put some cement down and place shards of broken glass in it, so my job was to collect some broken greenhouse panes and take them over for him.

A few days later I was up at the plot during dinner time, I watered the tomatoes, one gallon per plant, with a pinch of phostrogen, then I started to burn the triffids. I made sure I kept away from the fence , safety first , my dad used to say. I finished up and put the flamethrower away.
That evening, dad and I loaded up the wheelbarrow and headed for the allotment, there was a fire engine and a police car. The heap of wood on our neighbours allotment was a smouldering heap of ashes and he looked on with tears in his eyes. There was lots of anger and waving of arms, my dad squeezed me hard on the wrist. The message was clear – keep yer gob shut.

The boss of the allotments came over, ‘the little incendiary b*stards , look what they have done. They have burned his wood. Look, its spread to your plot too’ he pointed to the edges where I had been flaming the triffids. ‘Little b*stards’ said my dad, squeezing my wrist even harder.
‘Were you up here today ?’ asked the boss man. squeeze. ‘No’ said my dad. Squeeze. ‘Yes’ said I. massive squeeze. One of the other guys came over, ‘Yes I saw the little un at dinner, he was pottering about in the greenhouse’
‘Did you see anyone acting dodgy ??’ ‘No says I’ ‘Not a soul’
‘We’ll catch em, little b*stards’ The group of men moved off, we went into the greenhouse, dad was white as a sheet.

A couple of days later, I was back at the plots at dinner time. There was a screaming and a shouting, I thought someone was being murdered. It was Kev, he was being dragged along a path next to the allotments by his long blonde hair, kicking, crying and screaming like a banshee. He had been caught having a fag with his mates , near the fence. He was being dragged home, he knew what fate awaited him and he was terrified, if his dad was really angry, he would get the buckle end of the belt. The boss of the plots was calling him a little b*stard arsonist.

I felt a very strong urge to run over and throw myself in front of them shouting, ‘it wasn’t him, it was me. Take me instead, beat ME black and blue instead for I cannot tell a lie’
In fact it wasn’t a strong urge. To tell the truth , there was no urge at all.
No doubt I will have to answer for my crime on judgement day, but good old Kev answered for his on that day. He didn’t show his face outside for a week, even then he yelped if anyone touched him. Double Schadenfreude all round.
The flamethrower mysteriously disappeared one night and it was never seen or mentioned again.

potatoes

[LittlestHobbo]

"Shades of Freud"? - more - "Touch of Frost" i'd say.

quite well written though btw

[EternalOptimist]

Many years ago , my dad had an allotment. He grew all kinds of stuff, potatos, cabbage, salad veggies, cane fruit and his pride and joy, prize tomatoes in his greenhouse. I helped him from an early age and became quite adept at the old cultivation malarkey. One of the biggest jobs was to keep the weeds down, especially on the borders so my dad picked up this mini flame-thrower type device. You filled it up with paraffin, pumped up the pressure, then burned the weeds out , rather than digging them out.
During school term time, I would often nip to the plot at dinner time to water the tomatoes, and now and then, flame the triffids.

There was this lad in our street Kev, who was a couple of years older than me. He was hard as nails and was always in trouble, he was scared of nothing, except his dad, who was a proud man, and ruled his kids with a rod of iron. Kev was a total bully and we were all terrified of him, one day he had a go at my best friend , over nothing, he put him on the ground and kicked him full in the mouth. Ver ver nasty.

One day there was a bit of excitement at the allotments, a lorry arrived with a cargo of planks, the chap across the way was planning to build his own shed from scratch. The chap worked as a carpenter, so everyone was interested, if he did a good job, maybe we could all get one. One of the problems with sheds on an allotment is rats. They get underneath to nest and can become quite a nuisance. The solution was to put some cement down and place shards of broken glass in it, so my job was to collect some broken greenhouse panes and take them over for him.

A few days later I was up at the plot during dinner time, I watered the tomatoes, one gallon per plant, with a pinch of phostrogen, then I started to burn the triffids. I made sure I kept away from the fence , safety first , my dad used to say. I finished up and put the flamethrower away.
That evening, dad and I loaded up the wheelbarrow and headed for the allotment, there was a fire engine and a police car. The heap of wood on our neighbours allotment was a smouldering heap of ashes and he looked on with tears in his eyes. There was lots of anger and waving of arms, my dad squeezed me hard on the wrist. The message was clear – keep yer gob shut.

The boss of the allotments came over, ‘the little incendiary b*stards , look what they have done. They have burned his wood. Look, its spread to your plot too’ he pointed to the edges where I had been flaming the triffids. ‘Little b*stards’ said my dad, squeezing my wrist even harder.
‘Were you up here today ?’ asked the boss man. squeeze. ‘No’ said my dad. Squeeze. ‘Yes’ said I. massive squeeze. One of the other guys came over, ‘Yes I saw the little un at dinner, he was pottering about in the greenhouse’
‘Did you see anyone acting dodgy ??’ ‘No says I’ ‘Not a soul’
‘We’ll catch em, little b*stards’ The group of men moved off, we went into the greenhouse, dad was white as a sheet.

A couple of days later, I was back at the plots at dinner time. There was a screaming and a shouting, I thought someone was being murdered. It was Kev, he was being dragged along a path next to the allotments by his long blonde hair, kicking, crying and screaming like a banshee. He had been caught having a fag with his mates , near the fence. He was being dragged home, he knew what fate awaited him and he was terrified, if his dad was really angry, he would get the buckle end of the belt. The boss of the plots was calling him a little b*stard arsonist.

I felt a very strong urge to run over and throw myself in front of them shouting, ‘it wasn’t him, it was me. Take me instead, beat ME black and blue instead for I cannot tell a lie’
In fact it wasn’t a strong urge. To tell the truth , there was no urge at all.
No doubt I will have to answer for my crime on judgement day, but good old Kev answered for his on that day. He didn’t show his face outside for a week, even then he yelped if anyone touched him. Double Schadenfreude all round.
The flamethrower mysteriously disappeared one night and it was never seen or mentioned again.