The previous night had brought a gale. A fence panel lay like a dead soldier on the lawn. A mess of wild entanglements made up of brambles and branches and escaped black bin liners made access through the garden hazardous. Chickens scratched their way around the flower beds and there were at least three bicycles in various states of disrepair and a green wheel barrow carrying a load of brown rainwater. The barrow had a flat tyre of course. The shed in the far corner had a door that was propped shut with an old paint pot.
It was obvious that there was nothing here for even the most desperate thief who had ever cased a joint. But still the man didn’t move. Perhaps he was simply too stunned by the state of the garden.
Did honest law abiding citizens really live like this?