ARM Club 1/ARM_CLUB_CD.iso/contents/sillies/silly8/O/OnWeeding

Text File | 1994-03-14 | 7.1 KB | 130 lines

All Hail....!

Can I take this opportunity to thank those who sent messages of
appreciation for my previous 'humour' missive, 'On Decorating the
Shack.' Here is something of an outdoor nature for those persuaded
against their better nature to indulge in gardening ....

From time to time, when the grass is green and may or may not need
manicuring, the flower beds too have their share of green shoots basking
securely in the shade of the bedding plants. At such times, various
types of rogue plant life may be seen - often a joy to the naturalist's
eye; but when there are no naturalists in the family, somebody may be
delegated to remove the offending vegetation.

                         On Weeding the Garden.
                         ---------------------

As Algernon reached for his pineapple juice, his deckchair creaked and
his knotted kerchief slid a centimetre further over his right eyebrow.
The mound of Radcoms and QSTs on the stool nearby fluttered lazily in
the afternoon heat as he began to watch with undivided attention the
progress of an earwig's carefree ambling along a fold in the Readers
Advertisements page. It was inconceivable that anyone or anything could
intrude upon this idyllic scene.

But that would be reckoning without Mildred, Algernon's redoubtable
spouse, who at that very moment was emerging from the garden shed. Like
Boadecea, she carried a large wire seive under one arm and in the other
was a rake rampant. Within milliseconds the hand which Algernon had
destined for the glass of refreshment was curled round the rake handle
as he listened mutely to the clatter of other garden weaponry being
marshalled before him. 'Go! Get thee off thine idle butt and dig. I want
that rosebed cleared and the tree-root removed before tea time!' Ech!
Ech! O lack-a-day! Sighed our unsung hero as his vertebral column
assumed a posture approximating to a lamp- post undergoing subsidence.

Ah! Yes - that reminded him: His good lady wife was going shopping and
then meeting her friend for a driving lesson.  Indeed, two whole hours
in which to deal with the two tasks. First he would wield the hoe,
lightly skimming the surface of the rosebed, truncating the more obvious
offending weeds. Perhaps he would call into play the garden shears
should this be really necessary. As an extra favour he would trim the
lawn around the area, allowing just sufficient grass cuttings to fall on
the rosebed to camouflage those weeds which might survive. He heard
Mildred exit via the front door and waddle down the drive with her
squeaking shopping trolley. Downing the pineapple juice in one, our hero
set himself to work. In no time at all the rosebed was processed.
Algernon looked down at his briar torn hands - more evidence of hard
work. He mused in consolation at his recent tetanus jab as he surveyed
the theatre of operations, scratching his greying curls and wondering
why it appeared not much different than before.

This could be a problem ...

With a few deft shakes of the wire seive, he had covered much of the
remaining surface greenery on the rosebed. Right! Now for the
tree-root...  This particular weed was a sycamore of considerable
proportions. Now a proper job would involve checking the tortuous paths
taken by each of the roots branching out from the large stump which sat
defiantly before his gaping jowl. With pickaxe flying, he severed all
the connections with its roots and heaved the stump into the
wheelbarrow. Deciding to call it a day, our hero subsided into the
deckchair in a posture of flaccid recumbence; drained of all effort, he
could barely press the switches on his hand-held radio. There he would
have stayed for the remaining hour, if it were not for a certain feature
of an exposed root which caught his eye.

Like the wake of a torpedo, the effects of the offending root could be
seen as a progression of lifted flagstones and disturbed soil,
punctuated by the occasional emergence of blatantly energetic sycamore
shoots. This trail would normally be ignored by our hero as irrelevant
to his habitual enjoyment of the airwaves, were it not that it ended
somewhere under his shack.  Oh dear! How aggravating! Visions of heaving
floor planking and tilting benches gripped him in a cold sweat. The
thought of reaching for a microphone and feeling leafy fronds instead...
No! This invasion must be nipped in the bud - if it was not too already
late to use that expression. But the scale of the excavation was beyond
his concept of gardening-as-he-knew-it.

In desperation, he stumbled through the shack door, procured a reel of
aerial lashing cable and secured one end of it to the root. He sped
round to the front of the house and tied the other end of the cable to
the towing bracket of his car.  The next few milliseconds saw him in the
driving seat, revving the engine and off down the driveway. Now there is
a property of wellington boots which makes them rather inappropriate for
driving. Sure enough, Algernon found that his foot was trapped behind
the brake pedal with the accelerator full on. The consequences were
extremely interesting for onlookers, in that they witnessed a mode of
mobile operation which involved towing the shack at a respectable
distance behind the vehicle. The T-junction at the end of the road was
approaching uncomfortably fast.

Just in time, the handbrake brought the car to a stop. The engine
stalled and all was silent. And there, drawing into the kerb on the
other side of the road was Mildred. The instructor opened the door for
her and glanced at Algernon. 'Moving house, mate?' The comment was
ignored.  Mildred was taking a great interest in the scene. 'Darling! I
know - you've plucked up courage at last. You're taking your shack and
everything in it to the tip!' She smothered him in kisses. 'Heh! Heh!'
Algernon's lip quivered as he laughed insanely, his hands falling
forward onto the horn button. The commotion had attracted the attention
of a uniformed officer of the law, who was strolling towards them.

'Now wot's all this?  Sounding your horn while stationary, sir?' The
policeman raised the brim of his helmet and nodded towards the shack,
which was astride the crown of the road, some distance behind on its bed
of tangled roots. 'And shouldn't we have a trailer for that, sir?' 'Heh!
heh!' bleated our exhausted hero, looking forward to the distinct
possibility of a period of recuperation at her majesty's pleasure.

It was Mildred who came to the rescue. 'Officer, we're sorry about this,
but it IS only a short distance to the tip, and we WILL make sure we
borrow a trailer next time, won't we Algy dear?' The policeman walked
over to the shack, stroked his chin and spoke into his radio. He
strolled back to Algernon's car. 'You realise that this is causing a
very serious obstruction?  But I think you were acting with good
intentions, so I'm letting you off with a warning this time.  Now it
looks pretty dangerous, so you'd better not go near it. Help is on its
way, and the skip wagon will only be a few minutes. Just wait here while
I direct the traffic.'

'I'll make you all a cup of tea!' chimed Mildred. Our hero drew a breath
through clenched teeth. 'I wish I was just weeding the garden,' he said.


Best wishes! Watch those sycamores...  de Duncan G0SIB @ GB7EVY

*** EOF