not a meadow, but a lawn.
When it comes to lawns, we may have above the average number, but below the average size. We have three lawns, one of which is the size of a gent’s hanky, the other the size of a large bath towel, and the biggest is just about big enough to play football with a five-year-old on.
Anyway, I was reliably informed by Astrid that unless I could come up with a convincing excuse there and then, I really ought to mow the lawns. I started, but the cutting length was so short that I was ploughing rather than mowing. So I had to find the user manual on the internet, having mislaid the paper copy that came with the mower.
I quickly found out how to adjust the length, but the manual also contained lots of advice, some of which was particularly useful for people who feel attached to their fingers and toes, and wish to remain so. For example, the manual advised against getting one’s feet under the mower, or touching the blades while they were rotating.
On reading this, I felt quite proud, as I am fairly sure I would have avoided these potentially life-changing activities without being told.