EDitorial ± 6-Apr-2010

Mother Nature's Son

You know me. First sign of good weather and it's on with the knee-lengths and into the garden, for I do so love to be outdoors. Really don't know how I manage to spend/waste all that time powering away on the qwerty. Sure don't do my vitamin D levels no good.

OK OK, I confess, that was me, laptop in the dining room, Googling the latest bleeding edge PVRs and carrying out umpteen un-necessary online price comparisons while the sun shone leaving G. to weed, mow and edge. That greeny grassy stuff makes me sneeze and that yellowy sunny object makes me squint.

Nonetheless, out I eventually went to have a darn good think about the patio table and chairs. Badly weathered and in dire need of a coating of something highly flammable -- like many other green souls, I'm very concerned about reaching teak oil. Love those eco-puns.

Cranked up the Flymo Hover Compact 330 since it fell to me to finish off the awkward bit down the end of the garden. It came to life with all the subtlety of a Vulcan bomber, piledriving into nettles, splintering obstreperous branches and getting medieval on discarded Swingballs. Tuning out the white noise, you could pick out Robert Ransome tutting vociferously.

Cranked up the Outback Omega 200 early evening since sun equals barbecue. Wasn't a great surfeit of sunlight by that time, it's true. That wire brush made a fine job of revealing glints of silver among the blackened grill. As ever, though, there are casualties, and one poor snail won't be returning home tonight.