Lawnmower Man

Jim, the all-seeing individual in charge of the universe, is smiling on me this week.

Mrs Wife and I have been on holiday since Good Friday, and the sun has been beating down ever since.

Ideally, this would mean spending a whole week relaxing in my new hammock in my new garden, but things don't always work out in an ideal fashion.

Firstly, I HAVE a garden, which has vast lawns at front and rear. And this means that I have an atomic shedload of grass to cut.

So, at the helm of a bright orange device that looks more like a floor buffer than a blade-spinning destroyer of weeds and Mrs Wife's flowers, I began battle with the grounds of Dungroanin' first thing this morning.

And it's pretty hard going. But although I expected to resent the activity and the drain on my precious holiday hours, it was actually almost enjoyable. There's something almost therapeutic about going head-to-head with nature in the glorious spring sunshine.

Of course, I looked cool whilst engaged in this tidying up of the ranch - the Magic Tune Box pumped the sexy soul of Amy Winehouse into my lugs as I worked, and my new wraparound shades protected my peepers from the sunshine and the flying dandelion heads.

And now Dungroanin' is ready for a visit from the Inlaws. Luckily, Mrs Wife's parents will get their first look at Chateau Jock in glorious sunshine and with the garden looking as good as is ever likely.

But, if future battles of the lawn are to be tackled in the appropriate fashion, I'm going to need to invest in some serious military hardware. So I think I'll take some advice from Eric.