First cut

The maternal gardening gene passed me by but the paternal grass-cutting one caught me a glancing blow on its way past so today, what with it being sunny and springish and lighter (BST – yay!), and what with the grass being straggly and far too inviting to cats, I waded through it to the shed. In there, 24 years ago, we uncovered our predecessor’s old hand cylinder mower. It’s the mower I usually use, for the pleasure of its gentle mechanical whirr,  but it wouldn’t have coped with the grass the length it was today so out came the slightly less antique flymo.
 
Seeing something like a garden emerge inspired me to dig out the nettles, borage, bramble, goose grass and shining cranesbill, all rampaging in places I didn’t want them. The nettles fought back and my arms are tingling but there’ll be space for the hammock yet!