I say to my wife, as she commands the gardener, that we shouldn't touch the ivy shrouded fence by the driveway because it's obviously rotten underneath and only supported by a couple of decades of vegetation. And I like the ivy.
So, of course, I come back yesterday to a pile of rotten fence panels by the drive because my dear wife didn't tell him and, well, I've no idea why he decided to pull the ivy off anyway since it was fine and the decrepit state of the panels rather obvious. I liked the bloody ivy.
I not only get the bill for work I didn't want doing, I get to pay to replace the fence too. I'm having a formal grump.
eta: on the plus side, this will mean there's no more fence to replace, as that's all of it, every single fucking panel in the three years since we bought the damn place.