I finally got my lawn cut. (I know, I know - how terribly exciting. Well, I ain't keeping you; go check out the next blog.) The grass hadn't been cut since last year, it was wild-meadow high. ("Wild Meada Scent" from Laboritre Laitrom.) The lawnmower man found all sorts of stuff down the back - sliotars, prams, ships, the last Irish socialist, Shergar. He also found Bob's aborted attempt at crop growing (not made up) which is really just a hole in the ground.
- You lads digging a grave? he asked.
- Yup.
- Oh...
I have to say, he did a horrid neat job, tasty like.
2 comments:
Sir,
Aborted? An extended two-month tea break does not an abortion make. And, should you take a stroll in your back yard sometime you will see that it is not a hole, but rather a turning of the soil, leaving the ground at the same level it was previously, or a little higher. And if you'd bought a house in a decent spot there'd be a garden there, and not just a gravel pile covered in grass! But take heed, doubting tomtom - soon your back yard will yield to the roots of my earthy, vegetable children! And maybe a couple of herbs.
And one day these veggie children will rule the world.
Post a Comment