Gardening and our groundsmen

Yesterday, for me, was a day outside in the garden in the sunshine. I managed to cut back all the small hedges whilst the hens scratched about by my feet and, at times, they were dangerously close to the electric trimmer. Harriet Hen was nearly decapitated, but somehow managed to duck at the last moment. Silly bird! She lays good eggs so it would have been a pity to lose her.

I left the border hedge which is far too tall to deal with from the ground. We will ask our groundsmen to give it its annual wash, cut and perm when they have time and before our dear neighbour goes through his yearly ritual of telling us he cannot see the sea any more.

Now, I mentioned groundsmen. Don't misunderstand this. They come to us for about half an hour a fortnight in the growing season, mob handed, to mow the lawns and perform very occasional other tasks, such as causing irritating bald patches on the lawn where the rotating blade of the mower has been set too low for the brow of a slope. They are not really gardeners because they don't have anything to do with designing, planting, nurturing or the suchlike. They mow and chop and that seems to be about the extent of it. However, we wouldn't be without them.