Since moving to our first house, and having our first front and back gardens my fortnightly moan is now a predictable one. It concerns mowing the lawn in the front garden and comes in a variety of forms.
I don’t mind doing the back as it is only about 10ft square, the front however is much larger as we are on the corner so have the front of the house and the side to do as well (summer projects to remove some of this grass and replace with plants and gravel have yet to be finalised).
Of course when we moved in it was very exciting.. gardening! The new sex! I could pretend to be Alan Titchmarsh and Louise could wear thin tops and no bra. Then there were all the new toys to buy, a lawnmower being the main one.
Needless to say the novelty soon wore off and has since become a bit of a drag. Cut the grass, edge the grass, sweep up the cutting from the paths and pavement, rake the grass to lift the bits that my useless, inefficient Flymo doesn’t catch (tip: don’t buy on unless you like raking up grass as it spits the cuttings all over the damn place). Thing is it’s one of those chores that, once I get into it, I enjoy. I know it’s just the endorphins being released through physical exercise and the satisfaction of a job well done. But like any chore it’s, well, a chore…
Anyway, I’ll stop rambling on about the mundane. I mean What Do I Know?