We have barely been able to walk on our grass for the past few weeks as it has been so wet: more of a swamp than a lawn.
But suddenly, after a whole 48 hours resembling that which we used to call "summer" the water table is back where it belongs i. e. lower than the turf, which was my cue to leap into action with the lawnmower. This, however, was late in a Sunday which we had spent on Spanish time: everything happening at it's own pace including a long, late, slow lunch with (possibly) slightly more wine than falls within Department of Health guidelines.
The electric cable tangle had to be seen to be believed. At one point I managed to get it simultaneously wrapped around a plant pot, the protruding edge of an uneven paving slab, a tree, and my right Fit Flop. The combination of a high voltage cable and vicious pyrocanthus thorns is also probably not to be recommended.
Thankfully both I and the National Grid emerged unscathed, but not before I managed to mow up a concealed dog poo.
You will understand, I'm sure, why I have not posted a photo with this update. Be thankful, dear reader, that you are not reading this in Smellyvision.