What, no comments?
What no coments?
I’ve not updated this for a year, but still, no comments. My ramblings ignored in cyberspace – what an insult!
Well things have moved on some. Still two kids, one lurcher and a cat. One long-suffering other half who has announced his full intention to desert me if I even THINK of getting another long dog (or any other, short or not, come to that).
The personal trainer remains in post as a great extravagance. Especially as I do not always strictly follow his advice. I have also managed to find a lovely lady who cleans and is wonderful. My mental health is bolstered greatly by the combination of the two, the war against fat and filth.
The manila folders still kick about in the kitchen but I have discovered that the DVLA don’t need all the claptrap for the tax disc which is a blessing. Other feral paperwork is tamed into a pile on Wednesdays by the lovely lady and sometimes I even go through it and throw things out – great progress.
But this is really the tale of the lawn. Our labours bore blades and we were able to enjoy a green patch over the summer. Ok, they didn’t bear too close an inspection as the illusion of lawn actually consisted of overgrown clumps of grass with muddy gaps in between, but for a few short months I could dream. Until robogardener arrived late in October. Why, I do not know, but the OH having fixedly ignored the yard for more than two years decided he would “cut the lawn”. Begging, pleading could not dissuade him from his manly weekend course of action and it wasn’t long before the green pleasant land was reduced to a few sad tufts, islands in the earth.
Realising that the scene of devastation was not pleasing to mine eye, he made like a Highbury (oh sweet Highbury) groundsman and hastily scattered seed over the bald patches. He may even have done a bit of scarifying first. Of course, without under-lawn heating, we had no chance of achieving germination so the tufts remained. The rest is too depressing to write of at length, or indeed look at.
Rudi appointed himself, without dispensation, under-groundsdog and set about wrecking the joint. Rain falls endlessly, dog digs hole, owner fills it in, dog re-exacavates it 50% bigger, owner fills it in etc. He also has developed a new method of exiting the back door to relieve himself. No longer a cute puppy ponce down the path. Now it is a fully-fledged kangaroo bound. One bound and great Irish lep (I can say this because he hails from Navan) from door to deceased lawn/mud, with a deep skid for a few feet if it’s been raining, and then another bound into and (he hopes) over the fence.
I realise now that it will be losing battle, trying to resurrect the grass again. Which is a shame because grass is environmentally friendly and cheap. It’s just that asking it to withstand the bounces of the mental dog two or three times a day is frankly cruel.