I always keep an eye out for when farmers start mowing their fields. That's my cue to go and get cracking in my own garden. I didn't make time to do it earlier this week, I had an exam yesterday so I left it 'till a more convenient time. There is a saying 'Saint Barnabas, mow the grass'. The 11th of June is his feast day. So a good day according to popular folklore to not beat around the bush and mow it instead.
So I had a pint of milk and a can of spinach and set about this task. Almost halfway I ran into some trouble. My lawnmower left me in the lurch. Everything still worked, but the traction was gone. Just like that. So I had a look, everything was still in order. Tension on the thing you pull to move the leaver, the belt was ok...
The biggest impediment of the whole unfortunate condition was where the thing ceased to cooperate with my trimming activities. Only in the middle of the bloody garden! (see picture)
The lawn now had the appearance of a bad shaving job on a porn star.
So I nipped next door, I had to entice Mr Mole Slayer™ into getting to peel himself off the sofa (apparently there is some European Football Cup on). He very kindly lent me his mower, he even offered to take a look at the thing. 'Yep, it's fucked' was his diagnosis.
I thought Saint Peter was the patron saint of mowers. Barnabas was called upon against hailstorms. Nice work boys. I can clearly see you are not conferring on this one.