Some gentlemen came and removed all the grass from our back garden today. Gentlemen have been coming around our neighbourhood and removing things quite regularly at the moment, but in this case, it was ok: I did ask them to. These were nice gentlemen.
To be absolutely accurate, there wasn’t very much grass left amongst the plethora of weeds which had taken over after the drought and had successfully outcompeted the lawn ever since.
I know that having a lawn (ironically) isn’t the greenest decision that one can make, but it looks good and is far more conducive to getting the kids outside a bit more than gravel, thorny weeds and succulents. (Incidentally, I’m also aware that having kids isn’t the greenest decision that one can make, but I promise that I won’t have any more. Also, eating fillet steak isn’t the greenest decision that one can make, and certainly I’m not stopping that any time soon. I will, however, continue to religiously recycle. I remain confident that my place in Heaven is assured.)
Long story short, the nice gentlemen are planning to come back and replace the old grass (weeds) with some nice new grass (grass) tomorrow. The beagle (yeah, yeah… having one of which is not the greenest decision etc etc.) will be delighted to have its regular stalking ground back. It’s quite confused about why everything has gone brown and soily outside. Beagles like stability in their lives. And grass.
Hopefully, tomorrow marks the start of a successful, new, picture perfect back garden for the summer and beyond. I’m looking forward to it.
DIY = Do It Yourself DIM = (Fine, I’ll) Do It Myself (then)
I have been forced into doing all those little jobs that my wife has been going on about for a few days years now. Well, technically she did half of them and then I felt so guilty I had to join in and do the rest. We now have – amongst other things – cleared flower beds and painted walls.
And a stronger marriage. Maybe.
These were the sort of chores that we might normally have done together over a weekend, so I don’t feel too bad, but they did still need doing and I hadn’t (until now, at least) done them.
That’s not to say that I haven’t done anything though – the steps in the back garden were falling apart, and now they are falling apart a little bit less. Some trees and bushes were getting a bit overgrown and now they are less overgrown. But sometimes it’s hard to motivate oneself to do these rather mundane tasks, especially when one day is very much blending into the next and the world is not going to fall apart (any more than it already has) if you don’t do them.
Even I have to admit that the flower beds look better and the wall looks lovely though. I tried to suggest that the fact that we’d done these jobs together meant that we can both be proud of the outcome, but my wife rolled her eyes so far back that she could see 2019.
I may be in trouble and I suspect that only a well-mixed gin and tonic will get me out of it. I’m going to give that approach a go right now.
Mrs 6000 has been working overtime upon overtime for the last two weeks, so it was with some delight that I heard her suggest that we should launch a bit of an attack on the garden this morning. Rather that than another day in front of the laptop.
However, it’s now 4pm. I’ve only just emerged from the shower and every single muscle hurts. Yes, even that one. Some hard work has been done and tomorrow is going to bring the traditional World of Pain™, but on the plus side, there have been no Zoom meetings, no spreadsheets and no billion work Whatsapps.
On the negative side, there is some music being played in the house, and (IMHO) it’s not really great music. Thus, I have retreated to some B-sides and remixes from The Streets while I have been writing this. This was a good call.
I fancy a beer but I’m mindful that I made a bit of dent in the stash last night and let’s face it, no-one really expects us to be out of this lockdown on April 13th, do they? I’m thinking that three weeks will actually stretch to six or eight. My beer cache will also have to last that long. And so maybe I’ll have some milk instead of Milk Stout this evening.
Following a few weeks of growth, and then a few hours of hard work this morning, I am pleased to announce that the lawn status here at Chez 6000 has officially been downgraded from
Oh Christ, we’ve lost the bloody beagle again, to Could probably do with a cut.
I’m not sure why we chose kikuyu grass for the lawn. It grows like a weed if it’s looked after (i.e. watered) (ours was), but it dies like a dead thing if subjected to partial shade or minor drought. The buffalo on the other lawn (firstly, in this context buffalo is a kind of grass, not a huge mammal (the presence of which would surely negate any mowing anyway (or at least make it far too dangerous to cut the grass)), and secondly, I’m making my garden sounds much, much bigger than it actually is), but anyway, the buffalo on the other lawn is robust and took almost 30 seconds to mow.
Yes, I now realise that the kikuyu was a mistake. I predict some rebuffalisation in 2015.
Whenever we’re working in the garden, my boy always leaves the rake ready for someone to tread on and injure themselves. However, a smack in the face, while painful, is hardly anything more than comedy value.
But one little incident involving this would make everyone concerned suddenly consider safely storing gardening implements, wouldn’t it?