The House Husband

Today I was mowing the lawn. Over the last two weeks, there has been quite a bit of rain and it was pretty thick. I was about two thirds of the way through when suddenly the mower fell apart.

I was a bit surprised when the grass catcher came away but was even more so when the handle started moving sideways as well. At first I thought a bolt had come loose but on examination I realised the metal base had completely rusted through and had finally come away.

That's what I call a rust bucket

It was very sad. We’ve had the mower since we first moved to Farnham; when we lived up on Folly Hill. We’d just moved from Aldershot where the back garden was in fact a square of grass the size of the lounge room carpet which we didn’t bother mowing – I think we paid someone £2.50 to do it for us. But Folly Hill was different. It had a huge back garden and it was nearly all grass.

We headed down to Homebase and bought the best one for the size of garden. It cost us £50 and it didn’t miss a blade. It mowed Folly Hill, it mowed East Worldham and then it mowed Haslemere. It was like an old reliable friend. Each year, once the winter had withdrawn and the grass had started growing again, I’d drag the mower out of the shed, fill it with petrol and yank its cable. Life started instantly.

Except for one year, that is. The year it didn’t start. It wouldn’t start at all. I thought I might take it apart and try and fix it like a computer. That didn’t work. I called a mower person and he suggested bringing it up for them to have a look. When he asked how long since its last service I looked completely vacant. Service? A mower?

Anyway, he fixed the mower and it has worked brilliantly since then, mowing from Haslemere and finally back to Farnham. That’s 12 years of faithful service without any complaint. Had I only known that for the last little while, he’s just been hanging on by a thread of rust, I may have been a little more tender with him. I may have let him live out his last bit of mowing on some soft, sweet grass rather than the rough stuff I forced him through today.

As sad as the occasion was, it didn’t get the mowing done and so we drove down to Homebase (the same Homebase) and bought a new one. The young man who picked the box up and served me tried to sell me some sort of three year guarantee, which I obviously turned down. He even carried it to the car (presumably so I wouldn’t sue the company when I fell over because of the weight). Oddly, the new mower is a Husqvarna which, as far as I was aware, was a sewing machine. It cost a lot more than £50 so I’m hoping it will last about 65 years.

Once back home, it was just a question of putting the new mower together. This wasn’t that difficult and I was soon ready to go. I thought I’d better read the instruction sheet before starting it up. It was then that I noticed it needed oil. The first thought that went through my head was that the young guy could have tried to sell me some oil rather than insurance. My second thought was how the old mower had managed to work for 12 years without me giving it any oil.

I took myself down to the garage and spent a silly 15 minutes trying to work out which bottle of oil to pour into the new mower. I sort of picked one at random, bought it, took it home and poured it in. After adding petrol, it started fine and I finished the mowing in pretty quick time.

Anyway, that’s basically the story of today. Oh, the computer is slowly dying as well but that’s another story.

The new mower having been put through its paces

It was almost sunny for the entire day today. What a difference a bit of blue sky makes. And the anticipated storms of 8pm were only a very slight drizzle.

In order to celebrate properly, I took to the garden and, firstly, mowed the lawn. To say it needed it would be as big and understatement as saying that Titanic ran into an ice cube.

The long grasses of the African savannah

Of course, the grass was pretty sodden so it kept chugging up the blades and stopping the engine but eventually I managed to make it all look a little more presentable. Of course the path makes an excellent mowing strip as well as somewhere to bounce the mower in order to rid it of clumps of grass.

Still lush but lots shorter...and I think I've lost Day-z

The bit behind me looks much better as well. Speaking of which, I also planted the standard rose we bought weeks ago. It’s been sitting down the side of the house, propped up by the big blue recycling bin. It’s a lovely yellow, scented, standard rose and we’re hoping for great things from it.

It’s a David Austin English fragrant rose called Graham Thomas so, from now on, will be called Graham. When it flowers (repeatedly, apparently) it should look like this:

Graham's label

The day was so beautiful that, of course, we also went for a walk in the park. I decided to treat the poodles because they’ve been stuck inside for a week and took them all the way around. We met lots of other people taking their grateful dogs on sun-laden jaunts, all happily wagging their tails and full of the joys of being let out after a month of rain.

All was gorgeous until we reached the football pitch near the golf course. Last week the circus was in town and they always pitch up there but usually the rain is kept to a minimum for the duration of their stay. Of course, this wasn’t the case last week. In fact, normally I get to see them gradually getting everything set up for the big event on the weekend but, apart from seeing the trucks at great distance from the path into town, I’d seen nowt of their visit.

I may have seen nowt of their arrival and set up but I certainly saw a lot of what they left. They have devastated the park!!!! Ghastly great ruts of churned up grass and mud. It looks like a battle field after a jolly good rampant shelling from the Panzer Division of the German army.

Where picnics once took place

Honestly, I felt like crying. Only a few short weeks ago, I watched families frolicking, playing bat and ball games, giggling in the sun, eating home made treats on the grass. Groups of teenagers for once smiling as they laid back absorbing much needed vitamin D. Hundreds of dogs chasing hundreds of tennis balls. Now, all that’s left, is a desolate wasteland of truck treads.

Sob, sob

And with more rain forecast, it’s going to take a while to get back to anything approaching usable. It makes me so sad.

Rather than end on such a miserable note, here’s a ladybird that was happily sitting on the lavatera, watching me mow earlier in the day.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Earl Scruggs died today. He was an amazing banjo player. He played banjo on the theme tune for The Beverly Hillbillies along with Lester Flatt who, together, formed the Foggy Mountain Boys.

Earl was born in 1924 and popularised the three fingered banjo picking style which is what makes bluegrass music sound the way it does. He was so influential it became known as the Scruggs Style.

Here’s a great bit of plucking from Earl, Steve Martin and a few others.

Apart from thinking about bluegrass and hillbillies, I spent quite a bit of time in the garden today. I actually mowed the lawn – the first time since I broke my wrist. To be fair, it didn’t really need a mow until last week as it was settling down from the path but, even so, it was pretty lush. It now looks much better.

I also weeded then dumped a whole load of horse manure on the hot bed to give it a good feed. The day was hot and sunny so it was no problem working in it.

Speaking of which, yesterday Mirinda and I had lunch in Canary Wharf and had a lovely walk around in the sun. The whole place looked sparkly and new. Lots of people were out enjoying it, even the joggers, who normally look like they’re pushing the agony barrier.

Of course we saw lots of birds. These were my favourites. I think they’re Egyptian geese. They look like someone has pushed all their feathers up to their heads. They were involved in a bit of argy bargy and looked for all the world as if one wanted to pass the other but was refusing to move out of the way. Given they were in the middle of a huge basin of water, this was a bit silly.

Do you mind moving out of my way?

We also watched a pair of coots adding building material to their nest aboard the Tern Raft. The male gave his mate this long bit of twig but she wasn’t too certain. She also threw other bits off, which he’d take away for her. I reckoned he would then bring the same bit back, telling her it was a different twig.

And what am I supposed to do with this?

I like all the rubbish they’ve collected for the nest. And the little shrub they’ve planted for a bit of shade. Here’s their view back up the marina.

Looking back from the Tern Raft

We watched them for quite a while, before heading off for lunch at our favourite Lebanese restaurant. This weather is really spoiling us.

I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time in the garden this week. What with cricket, football and rotten weather, the grass, especially, has gone a bit mad. The plan (as of Thursday anyway) was that I’d mow on Sunday morning. That way it would have all of Saturday to dry off. Of course, I was keeping my fingers and toes crossed with great expectations that it wouldn’t rain.

When our social plans were altered for today by the advent of Mirinda’s lurgy, I decided to put it off for a few hours, giving it longer to dry properly. The problem is that when I mow the grass when it’s wet, it doesn’t collect in the catcher very well but, rather, chucks great chunks all over the garden which means I have to rake. Because raking is a right pain in the butt, I never want to rake. So, logically, I wait for it to be dry.

Actually, on the way into Farnham for the second time today, I spotted a guy mowing his lawn IN the rain. Nothing odd in that, you’d think. How is that a problem? The only problem, as far as I could see, was the fact that he was using an electric mower. Call me stupid but that doesn’t seem to be very smart. Or is it waterproof electricity that’s used in electric mowers? I don’t know. Mine runs on petrol.

It may be an indication of how sad some people are but I have found a forum where the members argue vociferously about whether to mow in the rain or not. Seriously. It seems the problem is that big mowing companies can’t afford to turn down business so they mow whatever the conditions, regardless of whether it works or not. This I can understand however, why would anyone actually pay someone to mow a lawn improperly?

Here’s a short quote from the forum. I thought it worth including as I don’t really understand much of it.

When the grass is wet I have a problem with grass clippings getting stuck under the deck, I use Raptor mulching blades with a scag 36″ w/b ….. I here the blades hitting the stuck clippings.. I try avoiding cutting when wet. Never when it’s raining…..

However, something that concerns me more than grass clippings under the deck is how stupid does someone have to be to mow in the rain with an electric mower? And it wasn’t spitting, either. The rain was seriously coming down. I was drenched so I can vouch for it.

That was the problem, actually. It rained a couple of times on and off through the day, separated by teasing blue skies and sunshine. Of course, all gardeners will know what this means: the grass never actually gets dry. And so, consequently, I didn’t mow. At present, I’m looking at Plan C – mow tomorrow.

The Borough, Farnham, rain threatening

Mirinda has spent the day in bed. Well, most of it. And she’s feeling much better. We’re hoping she’ll be able to spend some time outside tomorrow.

Another lovely day with sun and a slight breeze. The perfect day with it not too hot! As far from New York as I like it!

And yet another trip to Heathrow. All was well and Mirinda boarded the plane to Hong Kong. I was quite lucky with my connections getting home and her flight left as my train was pulling out of Woking station.

After a quick trip for supplies, it was back home to the frantic dogs and the garden. The grass was seriously in need of a trim today so I dragged out the mower and, under the afternoon sun, made it presentable. Very good timing, as it happens, because it started to rain at about 8pm.

As well as the snapdragon from yesterday, the Californian poppies were all out. Here’s some of them looking very bright in the sun.

Bright yellow Californian poppies in the hot border

They are quite amazing because once the sun goes in, they all shut up again!

Today was another scorcher. Really. I’m not exaggerating. It was 32 degrees at the weather station at 1:30pm this afternoon. The sun was relentless, beating down on me as I mowed the lawn then continued as I dug up the pixie plot.

This morning on Breakfast, Carol said that after reaching great heights, the weather would come down with a crash. Thunder, lightening, rain, the works as the heatwave comes to a momentous end. This may well have happened somewhere else but it sure didn’t happen in Surrey. Sure, the sky became very cloudy but no sign of rain (or meatballs). In fact, it just became more humid.

I did feel a few spots on my face at around 4:30 as I finished up a bit of weeding around the snapdragons but this was it. Not enough to wet a pixie. So, after working my fingers to a frazzle, I still had to water the garden.

Mirinda and I discussed the pixie plot this weekend and decided to dig up the surrounding grass and lay down a membrane before covering it with bark chippings. The idea is to give a seamless move into the stick pile. The bark chippings will have to come later but the rest is now complete.

The pixie plot ready for the bark chippings

Obviously the membrane had to go around the existing plant but otherwise completely covers the plot. Hopefully this will stop any nasty weeds (or grass) growing up.

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This just popped up on Twitter. It made me smile.

Highway Cleaning

I joined Mirinda on the train this morning as far as Woking. My shoes have grown a hole in the sole so I needed to visit my favourite shop for a new pair. Given the rain, every time I wear the old ones, one foot gets squishily wet. I hate having to carry spare socks so figured new shoes were the best solution. And so I headed off for TK Maxx.

The old pair were ideal because they are quite wide in the foot, allowing for comfort during mild gout days – mild enough not to need the gout sandals, anyway – and so it was with some trepidation I set about trying to find a pair as good. And would you believe it! They had the very same shoes (just a different colour)!

Naturally, I snapped them up before they could disappear. As well as a couple of new shirts. My haul came to under £50 for the lot so I was very pleased. I just LOVE TK Maxx.

Back at home I set to mowing the lawn before the rain arrived. BBC had prophesied that it would hit us at about 4pm so I knew I had plenty of time but I also had some planting to do. The lawn was in desperate need of a trim after the rain of the last few days but the mower made short work of it and I settled down for lunch.

It was then up to the park with the poodles to check out the funfair which is presently setting up in the park. This happens every year. Lots of trucks invade the football pitch beside the castle, forming a circle like so many wagons defending against the Indians. In fact, looking back at my posts, it was exactly a year ago that they were here.

We chased a few dogs, ran away from others and then headed home. While taking a temporary diversion into Squirrel Tree Copse, Carmen had an FSI. She hasn’t done this for a while but today she found the mother lode.

I reckon there’s a communal fox toilet just behind the Squirrel Tree and the last fox that used it forgot to shut the door. Boy did she stink. Gaggingly smelly. Even Day-z walked at a distance from her. Of course, Carmen thought it was all great and walked with her head and tail held high. Stupid dog. And she hated the vigorous bath.

Having rid the house of the obnoxious odour of Carmen’s stupidity, I hit the garden, ready to plant up the horde from Saturday. Mirinda had placed them in their pre-ordained locations throughout the new bed so all I had to do was dig, manure, water and plonk them in. This I did while listening to Radio 4, watching the growing blackness starting to make itself known above the house.

I had two more to plant and it started. Big drips started hitting me. I heard the roofers next door down tools and vacate the scaffold as I rushed to finish the planting. The rain started in earnest and I quickly moved the radio and my camera into the shed before returning to finish, water streaming down my face.

The dogs were sitting on the sun lounger watching, ignoring the rain. Idiots. Anyway, I managed to finish and put all the tools away before rescuing the radio and my camera and heading inside. The rain still hasn’t stopped. This means I am unable to take a photo of the finished bed. Maybe tomorrow.

Here’s a picture of the Lightbox, the museum in Woking. I’ve yet to visit it. I would have today except it doesn’t open until 10:30 each day and I was catching a train home by then.

The Lightbox museum, Woking

I’m not going to discuss the wedding that’s on tomorrow (I figure enough people will be doing that from all angles and with all sorts of agendas) so I’ll get it all out of system today instead.

This morning on Breakfast, they talked to a couple who run the local shop near where Catherine Middleton’s family lives. Apparently it is the shop she goes to when she fancies a chocolate bar. They also mentioned that William has been in for an ice cream or two.

Of course, this could have all just been one of those ho hum obscure brushes with celebrity, like the programme on Channel Four last week where Middletons from all over the woodwork came out to proclaim that they knew Kate when she was nothing but a tiny tyke with a dummy. I heard a revolting woman with short red hair saying how she was Catherine’s 3rd cousin (or something obscure) and how she could just as easily have married William, blah, blah, blah.

Actually they met at university and this woman sounded like she hadn’t managed to get passed primary school so probably not.

Anyway…the piece on Breakfast this morning was nothing like that, after all. The couple (they seemed like lovely, normal people) had had a surprise a while ago when a letter arrived for them. It was an invitation to attend the wedding. A real one! They showed it to the camera. They were so pleased, she had travelled all the way into London to buy a special sari for the occasion.

They really were a lovely couple. The reporter was a moron but you come to expect that.

Having heard about the shop and the invite, we were then taken to Sian standing outside Westminster Abbey, freezing her knees off in the wind – it was a tad chilly first thing this morning. Arrayed at her feet (actually she was on a raised platform) were scores of insane people who had been camped on the footpath for the last 24 hours.

Now I can understand some people wanting to be there to witness an event of this size (possibly so they can say to their grand kids they were there or perhaps because they have no friends) but what I cannot understand is how that justifies voluntarily sleeping rough for 48 hours.

I mean, where are they going to the toilet? Are they showering? Does someone mind their spot if they need to go and buy food? Like I say, totally beyond me.

But there was none of that hanging about on street corners for me today. I had to get the poodles to the kennel, mow the lawn, go to the Talking Newspaper, clean the house and then make my way to the flat in preparation for our impending anniversary trip to Venice.

Mirinda claims the flat is part of our house. If this is the case then anyone who thinks our house is tiny is crazy. It took me two hours to get from the hallway to the fourth bedroom tonight.

I heard this on Radio 4 the other night:

A city kid is in the country for the day. He asks a farmer:

“Hey, mister. Why’s that cow got no horns?”

The farmer looks the kid up and down and smiles:

“There could be three reasons why a cow has no horns. Firstly, it could have been born without horns. Secondly, it could have had crumpled horn and had them cut off. Thirdly, and clearly why in this case, because it’s a horse.”

It did make me laugh. It’s a panel game called Act Your Age, where three teams of comics are pitted against each other. There are two comedians in each team and they are of different generations. So, team one is The Current Crop, team two is The Up-and-Comers and team three is The Old Guard. It is all about pace so there are a lot of one liners. I love it. It has me in stitches for the full half an hour.

Anyway, as I said yesterday, I have another video of Molly singing from Annie. This time (after Mirinda’s request) we have Maybe. Please excuse the occasional rough spots but, according to Adele, she hadn’t warmed up before singing.

Today I cleaned the house while popping into the study every now and then to check the progress of my rearranging plan for the PC. All ended up well and I now have a PC that runs properly again.

Of course we went for our daily walk round the park. Surprisingly there weren’t as many people around today. Each day since the school holidays started, there’s been lots of little groups dotting the hillsides, tempting Day-z to jump on their prostrate bodies. Not today though. We only saw four groups, in fact.

One of the many, MANY things I love about Farnham park is when it has been freshly mown. It always smells perfect. I’m sure there’s a few allergenic types that would disagree, but it’s almost as good as freshly baked bread…if you ask me. And today I managed to get a great snoot full. Yes, it had been freshly cut right before we arrived. And it smelled a little like this:

Farnham Park just after the mowing tractor's been through

Here’s a photograph for anyone who thinks the traffic in London is bad in 2011. It was taken around 1900 and is of London Bridge.

Traffic on London Bridge in c1900

This was taken by Mr Anon from the south bank heading into London proper. Scary! So much traffic, so much horse manure. It’s images like this that make me realise how bad it really could be.

The image is from an exhibition at the Museum of London called ‘London Street Photography 1860-2010′ which I saw today. Fantastic! Some amazing early photographs in a display which runs chronologically along the walls. In fact, looking at the later pictures with colour and digital processing, sometimes the older ones run circles around them.

Anyway, I highly recommend the exhibition. It’s free and excellent.

The reason I went was because Mirinda had to attend a conference near St Paul’s today so we had an early lunch before walking her to hotel reception to check in. The Museum of London is not far from St Paul’s so I left her and walked over.

The day was magnificent – the best so far this year. Beautiful blue skies made everything look clean and new along the South Bank and St Paul’s looked particularly lovely.

St Paul's cathedral taken from the South Bank

Even the hordes of foreign students and their teachers couldn’t ruin the day as I strolled merrily along the South Bank to The Globe to meet Mirinda’s ferry. This was not the original plan. The original plan was for me to be on the ferry with her. Given she had to report to the conference in the afternoon, she had decided to work from home in the morning and I was going to meet her at the flat. But, well made plans and all that. It was not to be.

I was on the right train and everything was fine and then we approached Surbiton station. From what I have managed to find on the Internet, it seems someone jumped in front of a train. I hasten to add that this is unconfirmed and is from a Kingston news site. Whatever actually happened, there was a fatality and police closed the station and completely stuffed the trains up.

It must have happened just before the train I was on reached Surbiton. We sat in the middle of a particularly ugly nowhere for ages with nary a word from the conductor. After about 15 minutes it was obvious we were being held for some reason other than a red light. eventually we were told that the train wouldn’t be stopping at Surbiton because of the fatality but we’d be stopping at Berrylands (the stop after Surbiton where I’m pretty sure I’ve never been before) and passengers could catch a local bus back.

Eventually we crawled into Berrylands and a chap behind me gathered his things together and jumped off. he then immediately jumped back on and sat back down. I thought this was a bit odd but maybe he was just unsure.

After a while we started up and headed towards Waterloo again. The going was slow but eventually we stopped at Clapham Junction, another unscheduled stop. The conductor gave us a completely uninformative update and we sat there. He then came up with the suggestion that passengers could catch a train from another platform, go to Victoria and get the Tube from there. I have to say I considered it but a glance at my watch decided me against it. Time was ticking away and I’d not be making it anyway. I texted Mirinda with the latest developments, suggesting we meet at St Paul’s.

We then had another announcement. We were told that the train was likely to sit there for another 20 minutes (“…maybe longer.”) and it was suggested we go to platforms 4 & 5 where the trains were running into Waterloo without a problem. There was, however, a problem. As we all stood on platforms 4 & 5, the indicator boards were blank. A train then pulled into platform 3.

I’m not sure what prompted me (maybe the same thing that jogged my elbow that time in Verona; remember Claire?) but I thought this was a Waterloo train. I ran up the stairs and down the other side as the guard was about to blow his whistle. I asked and was told, yes, it was going straight to Waterloo. I sat down, the doors closed and off we went. I glanced across at the platform I’d escaped from. It was still crowded with hopeful passengers looking confused.

I managed to get to Waterloo half an hour later than planned and called Mirinda. We planned to meet at the ferry stop. So I had a lovely walk along South Bank rather than a lovely ferry ride along the Thames. So it goes, I ‘spose.

The trains were still a bit odd when I returned to Waterloo later in the day but I managed to fluke a train straight away and was home by 4 where I hitched up the dogs and took them for a walk around the park. They were very grateful. This is how lovely the park looked. The two black dots to the right are the dogs.

Farnham Park looking lovely in the late afternoon

Back at home I mowed the lawn for the first time this year (this will now continue for many months) and celebrated with a thoroughly deserved beer.

Mirinda is off to see Keira Knightly tonight with Ben (not Fogle, I hasten to add) so I’ll not hear from her till quite late. I hope she enjoys herself because the reviews were not very good.

Here’s another photo from the exhibition (just for luck). It’s of a milkman in Charing Cross in 1937. I quite like it.

Milkman at Charing Cross