One moment I'm out at Monmouth, tending the garden I've so painstakingly been cultivating, when all you hear in the distance is the turbo in a Mitsubishi Evo. In a flash, a path is run through my garden, but the biggest casualty would bee poor rhododendron Azaleastrum. At which point, I become an old women. And since I'm an old woman, I must cry out at this indignity. "MY AZALEAS!"