Do I have murder in my heart?

Last year this ancient clematis at my front door produced only a few weedy little flowers. Time to dig it up, I thought, and replace it with something fresh and lively, scented, climbing and untemperamental.

So I cut it back hard, and totally forgot about digging it out until now. And then I looked again, and, oh dear, it is trying really really hard to be a fresh, lively climber again. What to do? Savagery or compassion? Sense or soppiness?