Saturday, January 14, 2006
Supergrass
Today I spent the whole day laying some turf. The exercise was, for the most part, a litany of disasters, kicking off with losing my way driving to the lawn joint. Mark my words, readers, it pays to have an up-to-date street directory because as the old saying goes, yesterday's "proposed highway" is today's unplanned 2 hour detour via Fremantle.
Then while I was digging the old lawn I discovered a race of fierce subterranean fire ants. Or more to the point, I discovered them while I was lying prone on a rolled up piece of turf and they swarmed up my shirt and shorts. The pain was intense; easily the worst I have experienced since I got a massage from a Swiss tourist a few weeks ago. The only place they didn't bite me was the face and gonads, for reasons I won't go into. Yes, I'm sure you'd like me to go into those reasons - I know your type, you sicko.
Anyway, my back is stuffed, the back of the house (which received the old turf) looks like Bert Newton's scalp except with grass instead of hair plugs and I'm sneezing dirt.
The side of the house, however, looks quite spiffy. Hooray!
Then while I was digging the old lawn I discovered a race of fierce subterranean fire ants. Or more to the point, I discovered them while I was lying prone on a rolled up piece of turf and they swarmed up my shirt and shorts. The pain was intense; easily the worst I have experienced since I got a massage from a Swiss tourist a few weeks ago. The only place they didn't bite me was the face and gonads, for reasons I won't go into. Yes, I'm sure you'd like me to go into those reasons - I know your type, you sicko.
Anyway, my back is stuffed, the back of the house (which received the old turf) looks like Bert Newton's scalp except with grass instead of hair plugs and I'm sneezing dirt.
The side of the house, however, looks quite spiffy. Hooray!
