Well, fear not, it’s not me. Mobile blogging still has got its limits for me: I definitely wouldn’t attempt it on the top of my local oak. Had I done, however, I’d be in exactly the same state of helplessness as a Bolton lad who had to be rescued by the fire brigade. Cherry Thomas from The Bolton News reports that “the fire service attended Bury Cemetary at 6.05pm yesterday ((Tuesday)). The local teenager had climbed a tree and was 15ft up but unable to get down. A ladder was used to rescue the boy“.
You know by now that I’ve got a weird sense of humour, especially when it comes to noticing the use of words. I like this sentence: “the fire service attended Bury Cemetery” (yes, forgive me, but I felt I needed to spell the word correctly). Three burial-related words in the space of a short phrase… there’s something about it.
If you follow the link to Boy Rescued from Tree article, you will no doubt be amused by the comments from readers. The majority take the view that the previous generations were less spoilt. Simply, if anyone climbed the tree, they either came down by themselves, or had a relative (usually a father) take them down.
I can’t argue with that. But when I was little, I used to be terribly envious of local girls and boys who climbed up and down the trees and every structure in the children’s attractions park. My parents were rather protective, which may have to do with the fact that my father only visited me, otherwise I usually had but a grandma with me during the day. I’ve got no doubt she’d do anything to rescue me from the tree, but more likely than not she’d call the fire brigade. I cannot imagine her climbing the tree…
