Michael Harding: Making my peace with the tree-choking ivy

‘I must have loved currents . . . and I still can’t resist anything with a dried grape in it’

“When I was young, there were lots of derelict houses in the countryside whose inhabitants had long ago dissolved into the air, abandoning their homes to the ivy that choked the decaying walls.”

“When I was young, there were lots of derelict houses in the countryside whose inhabitants had long ago dissolved into the air, abandoning their homes to the ivy that choked the decaying walls.”

I got excited last week when I looked out the window and saw so many buds on the trees. And I got angry when I noticed ivy on my favourite little ash tree. Because I don’t like ivy.

When I was young, there were lots of derelict houses in the countryside whose inhabitants had long ago dissolved into the air, abandoning their homes to the ivy that choked the decaying walls. The old broken-down gables would sometimes fall from the weight of ivy.

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