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Neighbours round the corner have a holly bush; I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I were to go around in the dead of night and prune it for them. On the other hand, I'd quite happily set fire to the creeping ivy blighting the garden and providing a home for evil snails. Never mind cockroaches after a nuclear war, ivy'd still be crawling up the wall if, after falling over a giant pretzel, George Bush were to accidentally press the red button.