Bit of an overstatement, but none the less the grass is now cut. I did indeed borrow the aforementioned flymo and it was brilliant.
I started out the back, and fired away with no clear plan of coverage. The flymo was struggling, the grass considerable in height, and occasionally it coughed and stubbled as it keenly tore through. When it did get to an agreeable height it happily made a good job of it. And it was a pleasure to use as well, light and nibble, quiet and easy.
After some considerble effort I looked around to review my progress and found there there wasn't any - I perservered with renewed vigor. Eventually I'd covered the area, and with the exception of the border (which was still sporting it's messy hair look) it was looking prettyneat. It came however at a cost, I was knackered. With the old mower it was a simple walk up and down the garden with it purring away yumming up all the grass. Because of it's wieght it did alot of the work itself and now I was missing it, as I felt the heat in the lower back and contemplated the compression of my spine that I was suffering at the hands of the nippy flymo. The new guy had also neglected to retreive a single particle of grass.... it lacked the capacity, and again I looked over to my old mower in the corner with its onboard grass collector with renewed fondness.
This was shortlived. Though the old one appeared to offer more services, it was frankly never really good at them. For example, the weight meant moving it around was back breaking, it's straight line regime and rollers - while useful for creating light and dark stripes - was a game breaker if you missed a bit or made a mistake, and it's ace in the pack grass collector needed emtying constantly throughout. The reminiss was over, there was a new sheriff in town! So what if I needed to rake up the grass, it just looks like I'm working hard and in the process earning me more browny points. Right? Anway, it's sunny, raking will be... oh, I don't own a rake.
I'd borrowed the flymo with the promise of bringing it back the same day and I'm renowed for "borrowing" things longer term than planned and I wanted to break out of this association. I popped the mower in the car and headed for the sister in laws - hell, I'd pick up a rake and shears on the way home! (which I was interested in trying over a strimmer). Obviously stunned by the early return of their possesion they foolishing impulse offered me a rake and shears and although I wanted some of my own I accepted in the interest of time (and effort), so armed and dangerous I headed home to finish the job.
Target 1 was the front garden. The flymo had owned it, although the grass was such that it required that I hold the mower with both hands and do an initial sweep of the area a number of inches above the surface, then it was down to the nitty griity of trimming down. The front garden went from miniture nature reserve to short back and sides in a pretty short space and I took time to admire the new neatness of it all. Now for the finishing touches with the rake and shears. It turned into an obsessions. A snip here, and snip there, a re-snip there to keep the height accordingly.... and re-re-snip to adjust..... and re-do of the whole thing..... then further touchups! It was a enjoyable process but it was started to get old and in my haste to finish I servered the wire that records the gas and electric usage to the monitor outside and continued in a more mindful manner. Some raking later and I was done out the front. Tings were looking better.
I started on the back garden snipping my war around the perimeter, and by now I was starting to lag. My back was hurting and half way round I decided enough was enough and I needed a break... besides I was hungry.
And well I should be, it was gone 8 o'clock and Emma had neglected her duties as live in chef and irresponsibly fallen asleep on the couch! Disgraced she stubbled into the kitched and started to create something, and I used my role of critic and professional moaner to excuse myself from continuing the shearing and left the rest for the following day. It had been a good effort, the garden was looking much better, and the flymo had done itself proud.
.... I could almost hear our old mower choking in his own filth, outside, in the cold, lamenting it's inner workings which gave in to months of exposure. If it could speak it would likely say "bloody kids" as the memory of the small fast and nippy flymo burned in it's memory.
