You know, we always used to laugh at my dad when he’d lop off mum’s plants when he was strimming the edges of the lawn. He used to do it with alarming regularity and baby plants that mum had recently bought at great expense seemed to be the usual target. Obviously, it was just a sign of his lack of care and attention, after all, strimming edges is hardly rocket science, is it?!

Oh, if only it was. Then I might be able to do it.

My in-laws very generously bought us a strimmer for our moving home present. A very smart Black & Decker where the plastic cord bit (yes, that’s the technical term, okay?!) pulls out automatically as needed. I read the instructions – seemed simple enough. Let’s get to work.

Oh. My. God. I’m lethal. Maybe it’s genetic?

I am very glad I had my docs on my feet even though they didn’t get into the front line it was nice to have that reassurance. Akra kept hearing cries of “Oops!” and wisely didn’t come out to have a look until it was all done and then only muttered something safe along the lines of “very nice, much neater now”.

The problem is that it’s just so bulky and heavy and powerful. Then you’re supposed to swing the thing in a graceful arc at a 20 degree angle to the grass. That is challenging enough. Then you have to remember that the whole point of a strimmer is getting to those awkward grass growing places like bang up against the fence or the shed (the noise the plastic thing makes as it hits wood is a bit scary too). As an added excitement factor, the builder of this house seemed to delight in edging beds with small stones that fly up in random trajectories (usually ending at your head) if you accidentally swing the strimmer too close. We laughed when we saw the illustrations prescribed safety goggles – now I’m not so sure!

Oh well. It’s very nice. Much neater now.