What is it with lovat green check tweed in this part of the world? I went to a drinks party down the lane today and it was wall to wall. Lovely it is, but why do they all like it so much? Sarah and Hugh collected me and we walked together on what had become a pleasant midday. I had things to do in the afternoon so I stuck to the elderflower cordial and didn't get squiffy.
Which was just as well because the sun came out later, the skies cleared, and I decided to try out my new lawnmower blade. I attached it firmly to the engine and started to cut. But what was this? The mower glided fairly effortlessly up and down the lawn and I merely followed obediently behind it, steering from time to time. The hill was still there, the collecting attachment still full and heavy with grass cuttings, but I wasn't panting, or pushing flat out. As I say, it glid. And then it occurred to me: with the blades round the wrong way I had been working against a resistance that wasn't meant to be there. The father of Lee and Shaun (Stephen, he's called) has changed my life. No more will I have to dread the twice-weekly assault on the grass. This first cut of the season took me 20 minutes. I only sat down once, and that was more to try and work out what was going on than exhaustion. I shall stop off next time I pass his workshop and tell him what wonders he has performed. I'm thrilled to bits!
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