Mowing the lawn

Yesterday I mowed the lawn for the first time in my life.  In case this conjures in my readers' minds a picture of a hitherto unkempt garden I would remind you that I live together with several other families.  Possibly it is because we have a sit-on mower which is considered fun to drive by those who, up till now, have done the job.

The lawn is bestrewn with raised edges - to a gravelled drive and to numerous flower and vegetable beds - and the need to cut right up to the edge adds to the excitement.  On reporting back to the person who usually does the job we shared our common experiences - most of the things that can befall an errant mower had befallen me:

I went a rock he meant to tell me about and the blades made a horrible noise glancing off of it;

One wheel fell off the lawn into a bed whilst circumnavigating a sharp corner;

I got tangled up with a fence whilst negotiating a tight end-of-row turn;

I ripped the new strawberry netting (fear not, I have confessed and pleaded indulgence);

For a whole row I inadvertently had the height set too close so "burnt" the grass;

I did not think to check, so ran out of petrol at the furthest point so had to walk back for more fuel;

I mowed a bedding plant or two that was overflowing onto the grass.

Perhaps I will never be asked again.