When he's on-song, Roger is a beast. He'll stop at nothing and reminds me in many ways of a slightly mad old dog. On this occasion he found a peice of old carpet buried under the turf in an ancient, vain attempt to protect a bed of some kind from weeds. Roger hauled it out of hiding and chewed it mowerfully until, defeated by the accumulated half-rotted weave, he choked and died. It took a while to free the spindle from bits of carpet and on I went. At the end, I surveyed the newly mown orchard and discovered that Roger had done no more than flatten the grass. Puzzled, I discovered a thick drive belt in the hedge.
Roger's wizard once again resurrected him from the dead and proclaimed that never in his long experience had he ever seen one break. Once again, the Night Planted Orchard proves that it can best the best of the rest.