Tuesday, 8 May 2007

Gardening Therapy

The highlight of our Bank Holiday weekend (apart from the netball) was a mammoth gardening session. Now, my idea of gardening is to wander around in a floaty dress and big hat, humming Vivaldi and wielding a pair of tiny secateurs. A quick dead-heading of a rosebush here, the careful selection of a perfect bloom there, all laid across my trusty trug.

What we actually did was more akin to an Amazonian rainforest slash-and-burn. The garden is almost unrecognisable, and we appear to have nothing left in it that is actually growing.

I blame H (but then I always do!). In the Man versus Nature struggle, Man must conquer and subjugate. If the struggle was Woman versus Nature, we would probably come to some amicable agreement over a few glasses of wine – perhaps arrange a job-share or something.

I think the use of power tools is what attracts men to gardening. Who wouldn’t feel like a Master of the Universe with a hedge cutter in their hands? Well, me, actually. I always think I’m going to cut through the cable and electrocute myself.

I prefer the good old fashioned garden shears – the metallic slicing is so therapeutic. That busy, busy woman with the swinging ponytail, who blatantly queue-jumped in front of me yesterday, while she was yakking on her mobile? Snip! She won’t be so busy now she doesn’t have to put her hair up. That white van man who cut me up on the school run? Snip! He can yell abuse in a much higher voice now. Ah, the gentle joys of gardening.

Now that the weather is a bit colder, I am ready to hit the reds again, after my glut of whites and rosés. I am enjoying a glass of Château Saint Maurice Côtes Du Rhône (£5.49 Ocado - my auntie always used to call it Coat Jerome). It is quite spicy and tastes a little tannic, but that could just be that I am gulping it too fast.

I am looking grimly out of the window at the pile of chopped undergrowth which is still stacked up at the side of the garden. It will have to remain there until I can face bagging it all up and taking it to the dump. That is going to be a while. The last time I tried to force garden refuse into the council collection bags, I ended up looking as if I had spent my entire life self-harming, or wrestling with cats.

13 comments:

mutterings and meanderings said...

I hate gardening, but I like nice gardens. Floating around sounds much more fun!

dulwichmum said...

Dear sweet Drunk Mummy,

I can rely on you to make me laugh. My mother always advised me not to drink red wine because it discolours your teeth (yes 'your' not 'ones'). We drank Krug this evening - you know why.

DM

rilly super said...

drunkmummy, you may decry the male of the species predelectation for kitting out like a lumberjack to prune the roses but any man who gets in your way whilst you merrily stumble about the garden with secateurs in one hand, wine glass in the other and the brim of your hat falling over your eyes will need all the protective gear that the local plant hire shop can supply.Do be careful won't you dear.

beta mum said...

I've cut through a cable with hedge trimmer and I didn't die. I merely reconnected the frayed ends and carried on.
I love gardening - the destructive sort and the planting sort.
I've been drinking some cheap rose from Super-U tonight. Still lots left.

Drunk Mummy said...

M&M - it is definitely a lot more fun than tangling with the undergrowth. After all that effort, the garden looks more moonscape than landscape.

Darling Dulwich Mum - the blue teeth look is never an attractive one (although I find it can offset the bloodshot eyes rather nicely).
I can smell that Krug cork from here. Cheers!

Rilly - You are right, I think H was using the hedge trimmers as a sort of light sabre protection. It was his Darth Vader against my Obi -Wan Kenobi. That would have to be the Alec 'Guinness' version of course (no more jokes about Ewan McGregor's mighty sword please).

beta mum - were you wearing extra-thick wellies? Or was this one of those mad drinking party tricks that people do?
I am impressed - did you connect the ends of the cable with your teeth?
Enjoy your rose!

Pig in the Kitchen said...

I remember a man being killed by his lawnmower, he lay in his garden for a day or two. that's a sobering thought for you drunk mummy. Gosh, do remember not to use power tools when drunk won't you?

My husband bought a petrol-powered strimmer at the weekend...all very thrilling!
Pigx

Stay at home dad said...

Are you ladies all married to Alpha Husbands? I can recognize nothing of myself in your posts...

Sahd.

debio said...

In my experience (which is limited if only because I repeat the same mistakes) men will take control of anything when big boys' toys are available.
If I were manipulative and maneouvring you would see me buying each and every gadget on the market for each and every job I hate....as if.

Drunk Mummy said...

Pig - do not fret! I save my glugging for when the children have gone to bed (just in case they spill my wine) - and I'm certainly not going to do the garden in the dark.
Your husband has a petrol-powered strimmer? That's the sort of thing Clarkson would salivate over.
Does my electric toothbrush count as a power tool? I often use that when I'm drunk.

Dear SAHD - I would say that H's desire to raze the garden stems from a lack of aesthetics, rather than an Alpha tendency. But he does seem very keen on power tools.
Surely the fact that you recognize nothing of yourself in these posts is only a good thing!

debio - I agree, but I am prepared to fight to the death anyone who tries to control my 'Lazy Fish' corkscrew.

Pig in the Kitchen said...

SAHD, my husband pretended his strimmer was a long, revving willy and chased me around the garden. Does that count as Alpha Male Behaviour I wonder?

rilly super said...

only within the walls of certain institutions PITK...

Drunk Mummy said...

Pig - Rilly is right!
Your husband sounds like he is the sort of chap who has a name for his privates (it's not BlackandDecker is it?)

Mrs Super - your astute observations are always welcome!

Pig in the Kitchen said...

ha ha! no names for privates, that's just not right. My poor hubby, away in Brazil, I do love him and his throbbing power tools...;-)