Now, I’m not the World’s Greatest Gardener — a title which is bestowed, as far as I can see, through owning a coffee cup that lets all and sundry know that you are, in fact, the World’s Greatest Gardener. Humorous arrangements of fig leaves and thumbs may be involved on the cup, but these matters seem strictly optional.
Instead, for reasons which are too complex to go into here, my coffee cup would seem to indicate that I’m called Belinda, and that I’ve seen the Polar Bears at Sea World On The Gold Coast. Just in case anyone was confused, that’s not really all that true. I’ve never even been to Sea World.
Still, the fact remains that I’m not the World’s Greatest Gardener. But my affinity to test, and then break technology remains unflustered by the mere act of moving matters into realms arboreal. To wit, an electric mower, purchased yesterday from Bunnings. Constructed this morning, by me. And, naturally enough, 75% of the way round the garden, it dies. Dead as a dodo, with a power switch that merely goes “Click”, instead of “Brrrrm”.
Now, if anyone needs me, I’ll be out the back with a pair of scissors. For some time, it seems.