The first cut is the deepest

THIS TIME OF YEAR brings about a few firsts and one of the least welcome for me (and I suspect many other people) is the first time the lawnmower gets dragged out of the garden shed, resplendent in cobwebs and spiders. I managed to negotiate the ‘fuse test’ successfully this year with my bog-standard orange Flymo striking up at the first push of the button.

I’ve come to understand why they make these machines in orange, it’s so that I don’t lose them in the long wet grass of a British Spring time. I actually managed to get my lawns trimmed early in March this year during our traditional 1.5-week summertime. Since that time it’s been all downhill of course with the seemingly incessant rain serving up a gardener’s double whammy of not being able to step into the garden without getting soaked and the grass and weeds growing as fast as a very fast thing. Even my little pal who sits brightly in my garden through wind, hail and snow twelve months a year was beginning to suffer (though putting a brave face on as always).

Anyway, as I sit here tonight relaxing on a Saturday evening, my sore back tells me that the three cuts I needed to carry out on my lawns have been accomplished. I’m okay, I’m pouring a couple of bottles of cold Becks biers on my back and looking out on a May garden that has started to rise from the wilderness. A few wild elephants and tigers may have been displaced from the long grass but all is well. Even my little pal thinks so. Now for those weeds…