Spring is Here
Spring is here; and how do I know? Because a significant seasonal migrant has reappeared, Guglielmus hortulanus, aka Bill the Gardener, and is mowing the grass outside my study. I had no idea he was here till I heard the roar of the mower. It is the hand-mower, and thereby, unfortunately, hangs a tale. At the end of last season, the ride-on was declared legally dead by the AG’s Dad; any further attempts artificially to prolong its existence were described, with regretful firmness as throwing good money after bad. So we need a new ride-on, which is a distressingly expensive bit of kit.
Another seasonal manifestation occurred yesterday; Barnyards harrowing the fields on either side of the track. Unfortunately, in a farmerish determination to grab every last inch, the operative of the infernal machine in question has significantly damaged two telegraph poles; one is now leaning 15 degrees from vertical, and its neighbour can be wobbled by hand, both have huge gouges in the wood making it all too clear how this came about. If we go all silent for a bit, it may be because one or other of the damn things has fallen down.