We had this massive tree. I used to love it, cos it was right in the corner by the compost pile and I used to hide behind it shooting aliens, and if I ever got shot back I knew I'd only fall onto the warm, soft compost. Anyway, the vicarage was next door. I know living next door to the vicarage isn't the best recommendation of proletarian authenticity, but that's how it was. The vicar was concerned that the leanage could cause the tree to collapse onto his wall. And it was just the wall, and his massive garden. His actual house was like 500m away at the end of his principality-sized garden. Though with the benefit of adulthood I can see why men of the church are keen to maintain high walls. Anyway, he got the council to tell my dad to cut the tree down, and men with chainsaws came and hacked it all up over a couple of days. Then our whole back garden was full of branches and big bits of tree, and it was the biggest, best den ever, till they came and took it all away in a lorry.