The grass cutting season is behind me. Lawn bank. Tick. Pool bank. Tick. Oak bank – a doddle after the monstrous pool bank chore. I’ve even cut back the eragrostis curvula in the half barrel in the middle of the potager.
And tackled the huge in-the-wrong-place-miscanthus in the terrace bank.
I missed my chance to dig it up a few years ago. And now my only chance of saying goodbye to the grass is to hit it with a flame thrower. And even then it would probably resprout.
Now please excuse me while I go to the potting shed to sharpen my secateurs. My, they took a beating this week. And to try and get the bramble thorn out of my thumb. I have unearthed some beauties down the far end of the pool bank. All being well they won’t bother me again. Until next year.
Oh and there is the small matter of trying to get my hand out of the unclench position. They have been wrapped around my lovely secateurs all week. Good thing they are the perfect shape for wrapping round a glass of beer, but still.