Last week a man tried to charge me £150.
I’d attempted some gardening and it didn’t go very well. My back garden is slightly overgrown. It needs some attention. You know when you leave the garden for a week? Then a few weeks. Then a year. I did that. Neglect. The best word for is it neglect. I neglected my garden. My name is Tom Boston and I neglected my garden.
It feels good to finally admit that.
I’ve never liked gardening. I’ve spent years watching my Dad almost kill himself every time he uses the electric hedge trimmers. I was always impressed by how he could cut through the cable whilst trimming the hedge and not electrocute himself. Maybe he was getting electrocuted and just putting on a brave face. When he needs to fix the hedge trimmer he turns to something called gaffa tape. There is a never ending role of black gaffa tape in my Dad’s shed.
Gaffa tape and WD4O. All a man could ever possibly need.
So last week I’m trying to save my much-more-than-slightly-overgrown garden. I’m 20 minutes in and the lawnmower gives up on me. After lots of swearing and sweating I called a man. Sometimes in life you have to call a man. A real man.
It’s a cold hard fact of life that every bloke will face at least once (or if you’re like me maybe a few more times than once) in their lifetime. You need an actual man’s help. I’m talking about the kind of man that is 45 and he’s got hands the size of dinner plates and he doesn’t smile. He’s a man’s man. A proper man. With a proper man’s name like, Brian.
I’m not one of these men. I am essentially a man-boy. A 28 year old man-boy. I’ve got blonde hair and I like Magnums.
So Brian the gardener turns up with his dinner plate hands.
‘Welcome to the scene of the crime!’ I joked as he entered the back garden. He didn’t laugh. Why would he? He’s a real man, a man’s man. He’s called Brian. He scratched his chin and looked around the garden. I gave him a few moments to randomly make up an amount of money that he’d hoped I’d accept.
‘I can do the the whole lot for one and a half.’ he said. It took me a while to actual figure out that one and a half meant one hundred and fifty pounds. Brian wanted one hundred and fifty pounds to finish mowing my lawn.
‘Sling your hook Brian!’ I said, really aggressively. ‘Sling your bloody hook and never bloody come around here again or else!’ I said. It was exactly like that. That was exactly what happened. I definitely didn’t pretend to consider paying that and then thanked him for his time and took his business card and then told him I would call him if I wanted the work doing. I need a Magnum.
So now, a week later, I will be attempting to sort out the garden and I’m inviting you to share the experience.
In a first for this blog, I will be live-tweeting throughout the day.
Join me today, Wednesday 27th July from 8:30am for #GroundFarce
What can possibly go wrong?
Here are some of the highlights from today: