Saturday Morning

After scraping myself out of bed this morning, jumping in the shower (not literally), having a shave to reverse the very impressive neanderthal impersonation, and clearing the washing up that had mysteriously manifested itself in the kitchen overnight, I wandered out into our jungle of a back garden to see if I might do something about the forest of grass that was threatening to overtake everything.

I’m not really sure how our back garden works. It has something to do with sunshine and rain. I’m sure if I read a gardening book everything would be explained, but my only real references are my other half choosing to wreck the garden a soon as I’ve got it somewhere near straight, and the weatherman from the Rupert Books spotting that I’ve cut the grass, and then subjecting it to days of sunshine and rain to undo everything I’ve worked towards. It’s obviously a conspiracy.

I’m not sure if you’ll remember, but several months ago I bought a “push along” lawn mower. It follows the same line of thought that led me to purchase a single speed bicycle – if there is less to go wrong with something, the chances of it going wrong are far less. The petrol lawn mower had “just worked” for the better part of fifteen years – and then it didn’t – and I’m not a mechanic. Faced with the decision of either replacing the lawn mower, or buying a simple push-along replacement that might never go wrong, I went for the simple option. Of course I didn’t figure on how much hard work might be involved in pushing a manual lawn mower into a field of long grass. Turns out it’s a bit of a bastard.

By mid morning I had cut the grass, and looked like I had been standing in a rain storm – only it wasn’t raining. Let’s just say I didn’t smell too great either.

A couple hours later, two loads through the washing machine and dryer, enough clothes hung on the line in the garden to almost cause it’s structural integrity to fail, the dishwasher emptied, and most of the family still sitting watching TV, and the rest of the weekend is opening up with all sorts of procrastination possibilities. Of course this won’t last.

Miss 12 just walked in and reminded me that I would take her out for lunch in town.

“If you have a shower and get changed into some clean clothes, maybe”

“I’m having a shower now” (her hair was “interesting”)

I’m presently waiting for Miss 13 to finish in the shower. She entered it under duress, but her resistance appears to have been defeated by the thought of a burger and chips in town. I’m pretty sure she would throw us all under a bus for a hotdog.

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