Tote dat barge, lift dat bale

As I am sure the whole of the UK and most of North America know by now, strong north winds blew down a part of my fence. A 6'x6' panel to be precise. Formerly held in place by two 7' x3"x3" posts.
Not any more.
The right-hand post (see diagram) was secured in the ground by Alvah Peck, an ex-policeman with time and a bucket of concrete on his hands. The left-hand post was secured into a metal box on a peg by Gary Jacobs, present whereabouts unknown.
The right-hand post has snapped off just above the concrete; the left wobbles in its metal box (the box having split open). As to the 6x6 panel, better not to talk about it: it might have killed someone on its flight south from here.

But, you know me, I am not one to be deterred by die Tuecke des Objekts, the bloody-mindedness of inanimate objects, so, armed with a big hammer and a glass of Argentinian Merlot, I went out today and STARED at the fence.

For a long time.

You know, I quite like the gap where the fence panel used to be. It's airy, it's liberating, it gives one a new view on the world. And once you put your mind to it, you can even find beauty in a neighbour's dustbin and compost heap.

So, after a reasonable amount of staring, I put the big hammer back in the toolchest and poured myself another of Argentine's finest.

When it comes to DO-IT-YOURSELF, nobody can tote dat hammer and lift dat glass de way dat I can.