Sunday, May 02, 2004
This Land Is Your Land
How can something so wrong feel so right? I hope I can trust you not to go blabbing to everyone about this. I’m talking about socks and sandals. Together. Or rather, sock and sandals, in my case.
On Friday I had an in-growing toenail removed, which means I’m currently wearing sandals on both feet and a sock on one foot (it‘s cold - alright?), while the other foot has gone commando (except for the bandages). I fear I’ve said too much already.
So I’m hobbling about the house in a slightly ridiculous fashion, feeling as forlorn as a three legged dog. Coming downstairs involves an amusing hobble-hop hobble-hop action, and Girlfriend has put some newspaper down in the corner of the kitchen, just in case I’m caught short.
It was a different story last weekend. I hired a turf remover and we re-created Glastonbury Festival in our own back garden, complete with a falafel stall and naked hippies rolling about in the mud at the first hint of rain. I fetched my guitar and led in a quick rendition of This Land Is Your Land.
We had the turf remover for three hours which was cutting it fine - especially since the thing kept stalling if you didn’t have the choke out, but wouldn’t cut turf if you did. I was anxious about precious seconds ticking away and would have saved a lot of time and unnecessary swearing if I’d given it longer to warm up before getting stuck in.
But it was great once I’d got the hang of it. There is something unmistakably arousing about smell of a petrol engine in the garden. The sun was hot and I sweated manfully as I wrestled with the mighty throbbing machine, stripped down to the waist, my man-bosoms cheerfully jigging about like excited jellyfish at a rave. Girlfriend followed behind me building a small mountain out of the freshly dug turf, which then took bloody days to take to the tip.
Next we intend to create a winding path, which will involve hiring a plate whacker, and which I hope is as much fun to use as it is to say. Then we’ll be laying a new lawn, and planting trees and shrubs. I quite fancy a pear tree, but apparently you need to have two - a male and a female, and I’m not sure I can handle the thought of trees doing the lurve thang in our back garden. I wouldn’t know where to look.
On Friday I had an in-growing toenail removed, which means I’m currently wearing sandals on both feet and a sock on one foot (it‘s cold - alright?), while the other foot has gone commando (except for the bandages). I fear I’ve said too much already.
So I’m hobbling about the house in a slightly ridiculous fashion, feeling as forlorn as a three legged dog. Coming downstairs involves an amusing hobble-hop hobble-hop action, and Girlfriend has put some newspaper down in the corner of the kitchen, just in case I’m caught short.
It was a different story last weekend. I hired a turf remover and we re-created Glastonbury Festival in our own back garden, complete with a falafel stall and naked hippies rolling about in the mud at the first hint of rain. I fetched my guitar and led in a quick rendition of This Land Is Your Land.
We had the turf remover for three hours which was cutting it fine - especially since the thing kept stalling if you didn’t have the choke out, but wouldn’t cut turf if you did. I was anxious about precious seconds ticking away and would have saved a lot of time and unnecessary swearing if I’d given it longer to warm up before getting stuck in.
But it was great once I’d got the hang of it. There is something unmistakably arousing about smell of a petrol engine in the garden. The sun was hot and I sweated manfully as I wrestled with the mighty throbbing machine, stripped down to the waist, my man-bosoms cheerfully jigging about like excited jellyfish at a rave. Girlfriend followed behind me building a small mountain out of the freshly dug turf, which then took bloody days to take to the tip.
Next we intend to create a winding path, which will involve hiring a plate whacker, and which I hope is as much fun to use as it is to say. Then we’ll be laying a new lawn, and planting trees and shrubs. I quite fancy a pear tree, but apparently you need to have two - a male and a female, and I’m not sure I can handle the thought of trees doing the lurve thang in our back garden. I wouldn’t know where to look.

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