We seem to have become similarly obsessed, abandoning particular, familiar trees in favour of a kind of abstract notion of elmness.

And so, the only thing I could do, being a passive Aspergian was to withdraw into a world of autistic hell.

I dropped a small wicker foldstool that I always carried as part of my camp-kit on the side of the road to mark the spot and told the driver to back down the road, guiding him with my torch – till we found a convenient place to turn the vehicle around.

[…] this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber, warp, warp.