My glorious golden pumpkin is a sludgy mess all over the balcony, B tells me.
It turns out that squirrels like pumpkin, too. And the rapacious local population could not bear to see such a fine food source used as a mere decoration - so they invaded it, gnawed out the innards, ate the seeds and left a disgusting mess of pulp and fibre all over the balcony. Poor B has to clean it up. I can only say "there there". For indeed, he is "there" and I am "here".