The First Cut is the Deepest

It has got to that time of the year when one has to stop appreciating the daffs, the blossom, the new leaves, and mow the lawn for the first time.

It's a dangerous balance. Do it too early and it's wet and horrible, leave it too late and it's dry but too long.

Before

After

It's not huge, and it isn't very level. When I bought the house there was an old tree stump about where the clothes dryer is.

I don't have a lawnmower of my own, and this is mostly because my dad lives on the next street and has the most wonderful petrol mower. When it's time for a mow, I wander round and steal it from his garage, push it along the street and into my garden.

Yesterday I decided to do it even though I was struggling mightily. I have a longstanding shoulder injury but over the last couple of weeks managed to pick up problems with my back, hips, neck and ribs. At least that's what I thought until I saw the first line of possible side effects from my new drug (Enzalutamide) were: "Back pain, joint aches, musculoskeletal pain".

So I do have pain, but probably not from over exercise or physical activity. This was a little comforting as I was beginning to think that I would never be able to do anything physical again for fear of injury.

Anyway, I was moving a little tentatively. Walking is possible, just not at any speed, so I ambled round to my Dads, nicked the mower and brought it home. Tried to fire it up. No go. No petrol in the tank. Bugger.

Found a petrol can in my shed and walked up to the local petrol station, filled it, came back and filled the mower. Started the beast up and did my first few cuts, stopping when the grass bin was full.

As I started to empty the contents into the composter, I felt something hard and plasticky. I had checked the lawn for debris and "cat presents" before I started, and found none, but I must have mowed something into the grass bin. As I cleared the grass away I was disappointed to uncover another petrol can, with petrol, that had been stored (I think by me) in the grass bin. Those slow walks to and from the petrol station had been for nought.

Never mind. My dad now has a can of petrol and so do I. If the bomb drops we can carry on mowing our lawns for quite a bit. Assuming the grass survives.