The speckled band and a shaky hand

That about sums up strimming. You get decorated in green goo when you thwack into the nettles, and after a few hours of non stop work, your hand vibrates from holding the trigger.

Happy days. The only annoying thing is I can’t tick this chore off the list.

The strimmer told me after a few hours that it really needed a rest. That or I have to change the spark plug.

I have about half an hour of the trickiest, steepest bit to go.  I kept having to stop and whip my super sharp secateurs out of my back pocket and cut through the incredibly thick brambles that have sprouted merrily.

Luckily the enforced pause from the panting, tongue lolling strimmer meant I could mow.  And it’s coming along nicely.

Once I rake all the strimmed bits off the slopes, it will look groomed and gorgeous. Well, I do need to come down with a bucket and pick up the river of stones and gravel that was washed down from the last flood.  But soon we will be able to look out the windows of our house in winter and admire the view, rather than wonder just how that self sown elderflower managed to put on such growth.