Day 1: I was built to stand strong, mark boundaries, and stop next door’s dog from using this lawn as a personal amusement park. I was not, however, prepared for fifteen years of rain, cobwebs, and being ignored like a forgotten houseplant. But today—something changed.
The humans were standing outside, staring at me with a mixture of guilt and determination. I heard them muttering about “finally doing something about the garden.” I assumed that meant a new coat of paint, maybe even a fresh nail or two. I was wrong. Very wrong.
Day 2: They started talking about pressure washing birmingham. I didn’t know what it meant, but based on the dramatic tone and the way they nodded at each other, it sounded serious. The patio furniture began panicking. Even the garden gnome looked tense.
Day 3: Chaos. They mentioned exterior cleaning birmingham and suddenly nothing was safe. Walls, gutters, sheds… even the bird feeder was side-eyed like it was part of a conspiracy. I braced myself. If dirt had feelings, it would have written a goodbye letter.
Day 4: The patio got it first. Someone announced they’d booked patio cleaning birmingham, and the slabs—which I used to mock for being permanently stained—came out looking like they’d just been born. The humans were thrilled. The gnome was blinded by the reflection.
Day 5: Then came the driveway. I’ve always admired the driveway, mostly because it distracted from how scruffy I looked. Oil stains, tyre marks, spilled tea—it held memories. But once driveway cleaning bimringham entered the picture, those memories were blasted into oblivion. It now looks like the entrance to a futuristic car commercial. Show-off.
Day 6: I heard them mention roof cleaning birmingham. The roof—my tall, smug neighbour—was horrified. Moss, algae, and a decade of weather got scraped and washed away. Now it looks like it’s auditioning for a home improvement magazine. Typical roof behaviour.
Day 7: Somehow, after all this, they still didn’t forget about me. I felt the jet of water before I saw it. I lost twelve layers of grime, three spider settlements, and what I’m pretty sure was a fossilised leaf from 2014. And for the first time in years… I looked new. Sharp. Proud. Fence-like.
Final Thoughts: I thought cleaning was overhyped nonsense. Turns out, it feels incredible to not look like a retirement home for mould. The garden is alive again. People sit outside. Kids play. Even the cat approved, and that thing hates everything.
I may just be a fence, but I’ve learned something:
Sometimes, the outside world doesn’t need rebuilding—
just a really good wash.
And now that I’m clean?
I dare that dog to try me.
