Looking at yew

My parents' yew hedge was the bane of my hayfevery teenage summers. It was scratchy and pollony and evil, and guess who got the job of cutting it.

So naturally when my father announces that he intends to cut it this weekend, my inner bastard makes me suggest the Boy helps him. Which he did, to apparently everyone's satisfaction. Dad gets some help, Boy gets out of going on a walk, we get to enjoy some splendid views over Wiltshire without anyone to whinge when the rain starts. And no hayfever, apparently.

In my day the clippings were just thrown away. Nowadays apparently they are bought up by a French company that uses them to make anticancer drugs. Well, did you ever? And apparently it has to be English yew as only that has the right anticancerous properties.

French company. English yew. There is an irony that is not lost on me. If it's lost on you, click here.