Calling a spade a spade

Borrowing my friend Jane's turfing spade to form a new border (for Doris to sunbathe in) cost me dearly the other day. After inadvertently hitting rock, the tool buckled beneath the weight of my size nines and soon took on the appearance of a bizarre Uri Geller experiment.

Turns out the spade in question is a family heirloom dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century and was reputedly used to tend the gardens in nearby Castle Howard. Apparently you can't put a price on it. You can, however, put a price on a Spear and Jackson modern day replacement. Whether or not Jane ever speaks to me again, on the other hand, is anyone's guess.