Gathan Beaga

taunted

I’m taunted by the gorse, whose yellow flowers attract a dose of Vigilant but always seem to reappear somewhere else next year. And for good measure seed in our lawn just when you least expect it (e.g., when you’ve been digging the garden and you’d like to have a little sit down and breather for a couple minutes).

I’m taunted by our unkempt rose bushes, whose spindly and unstable canes always seem to be reaching out to scratch and tear. Sometimes I’d like to tear them out, but before I’ll get around to it they’ll bloom.

I’m taunted by the convolvulus, whose white roots turn up everywhere. Even an obsessional devotion to digging these out never seems to completely solve the problem.

I’m taunted by the wandering willy, which has emerged from under the lemon trees and decided the freshly turned vege patch with it’s soft dark dirt is fair game for lebensraum. And the fennel. And the blackberry.

I’m taunted by the neighbourhood cats, who have decided that the freshly turned vege patch with it’s soft dark dirt is fair game for taking a shit in. A tazer would be handy for this, wouldn’t it.

I’m taunted by the neighbourhood rats, who have decided that if I am to destroy their living quarters they’ll come and live in ours. As I sit here I can hear them scampering across the ceiling.

I’m doubly taunted by the neighbourhood rats, who still get their free lunches from our compost bin. I trapped one in there today, and threw a brick at it, missing of course. And then I had to think very carefully about reaching in to retrieve the brick.

And I’m taunted by our lawns, whose growth, somewhat reminiscent of tropical elephant grass, nearly defeated the petrol line trimmer this afternoon. There was absolutely no point taking a mower to it.

All in all, I’m thinking a fully laden concrete mixer would be of assistance right now. Or at least it would be if it were possible to get the concrete to our house without the aid of a helicopter.

Oh well, dreams are free.

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