We finally set out to cut the grass. It has got much too long, with the warm weather, but first of all the ground was too wet and soft to put the mower over it, and then it was Cheltenham week, and then the Systems Administrator went down with a cold. Once the grass is that long and lush it has to be done with the push mower, as the lawn tractor just clogs up, and the push mower has a cord start. I have always been hopeless at starting lawnmowers, outboards or anything else with a cord. It is probably down to ineptitude and lack of technique, though the fact that I'm only five foot four with correspondingly short arms may not help. The SA is six foot, and makes cord starts look easy. The Mountfield has barely been used since the first cut of last year, and I didn't fancy my chances. Anyway, I was busy doing everything else, and the SA did promise to do it, once we had a couple of dry days.
The mower didn't sound happy about life. I am no petrol head, but even I could tell the engine wasn't running properly. It kept getting louder and quieter, and stopped every so often without being told to. It made it all the way round the top lawn on a high cut, but then stopped. And wouldn't start. After checking the air filter the SA diagnosed a problem with the fuel system, and admitted defeat, saying it would have to go to Ernest Doe. I have never been very keen on Ernest Doe since the time they returned the previous lawn tractor after a full and very expensive service, just before a Bank Holiday weekend. We were both still working full time in London, the forecast was for dry weather, and I was desperate to get the grass cut. The newly serviced mower would not work because a drive belt had been fitted incorrectly, and I was told that I would not be able to have it over the weekend. I was very, very cross.
Far closer to home, in a converted farm unit, are GB Farm Services, who were originally recommended by a beekeeping friend, and who once sorted out a chainsaw for us when old fuel jellied in the tank for a remarkably modest charge. I didn't really expect anybody to be there at four on a Saturday afternoon, but rang on spec. Twenty minutes later a chap had come round in a pick-up to take the Mountfield away. That's less time than it took the AA to arrive, the last time I needed them, when the Skoda suddenly began to make terrifying grinding noises so that I didn't dare drive it any further in case I was doing untold damage to some part that would cost an arm and a leg to replace. The lawnmower man said he presumed we would like the Mountfield back as soon as possible, and we said yes please, and off it went. I'm not sure the SA was entirely heartbroken not to be able to go on mowing the lawn, as it meant he could watch the rest of the cricket instead of merely listening to it on headphones.
It's a nuisance not having the mower when we need it, but you could say it serves us right for not getting it serviced in February. At least it can be mended. My pet hatred is when part of something breaks, so that the whole thing has to be thrown away, or is a pain to use, when the broken bit is a really small part of the whole. For example, the zip on my gardening fleece has just stopped zipping. The rest of the garment is fine. It is made out of a good, thick fabric that hasn't ripped on the rose thorns, it has a neat little zip-up front pocket that I like because I can keep my house key in there, if the SA is out and I'm working out of sight of the house. The only thing wrong with it is that suddenly it no longer zips up. Mending it is scarcely practicable, since the fabric would be so thick to sew through, and a replacement zip would probably cost as much as an entire fleece from the Clacton factory outlet shop. But it galls to have to throw something away that so nearly works.
Likewise the kettle. It has a window in the side so that you can see how full it is, very cute, and a blue light when it's switched on. The window has sprung an intermittent leak. The element still heats up, the kettle is capable of fulfilling its basic function of boiling water, but every so often it slowly dumps half its contents on the kitchen worktop. I'm getting tired of having to mop up, and this lunchtime it started dripping boiling water on the cat when I made a cup of tea. I can't see a way of mending it, since any sealant would have to withstand boiling temperatures and be suitable for contact with food, so we're going to have to get a new one.
And the vacuum cleaner. It is not a Dyson, but doesn't use paper bags. Instead, there is a removable plastic box that collects the dirt and cat fur, which you take out to empty. The bottom of the box was held on with a plastic hinge, which broke very early in the vacuum cleaner's career, so is now hinged with gaffer tape, which makes it difficult to get the box back into the body of the machine without the door falling open. If the box isn't properly shut then the machine doesn't develop full suction. It is infuriating. The engine, the real business heart of the vacuum cleaner, works perfectly well, but the functionality of the whole machine is impaired by the failure of one small, stupid, cheap plastic part, which it would have cost pennies to engineer properly in the first place.
Compared with all of these, the failure of the Mountfield and rapid the deployment of my knight in shining armour from GB Farm Services, seem positively benign in comparison.
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