Johnny Ireland
I was 17 when I took up my first job. A civil servant, no less. Not bad for a lad from the back streets of Coventry, if I say so myself.
It was an interesting place to work, the local unemployment benefit office. The average age was 55. Within the first two weeks of my new job I’d attended four retirement parties – three for ladies whose wish was to ‘lunch’ more with their friends, and one lovely old chap who said he wanted to spend more time outdoors.
On the evening of his leaving party, I asked him what, in particular, he wanted to do outdoors.
“More golf. More gardening. More time walking with my dog and my wife.”
It didn’t sound very appealing to me. Golf was for the wealthy, gardening bored me senseless, and I was more of a cat man (just ask Starsky or TC). At 17 years old, walking with a wife didn’t fill me with enthusiasm either.
But then life hits you.
I was 26 when I bought my first lawn mower. It was a bright orange hover – you know the brand. I went to the local garden centre to purchase it and ended up with a great deal. I got the mower, a strimmer and a garden vac in one money-saving bundle.
And there began my love/hate relationship with garden electrics.
So far, I have managed to get through 15 strimmers, six electric lawn mowers, and four garden vacs.
For some reason, I have the fabulous ability to break such equipment. Particularly strimmers which seem to invite me to repeatedly strim the electrical cable. In one single day, I managed to ‘strim’ both the strimmer and the lawn mower electrical leads.
The guys at the local refuse centre used to know me by my first name. They didn’t need to ask what I had in my boot. Instead, they would grin when I turned up and guide me to the ‘garden electrical’ section where I would duly dump whichever bright orange gadgets I’d managed to destroy that week.
I could never take to a garden vac. Particularly the ‘blow’ feature. Basically, you just blow a load of leaves across your garden, only for the wind to blow them back again. Why would you do that?
A house brick was my best excuse for wrecking one particular top-of-the range orange garden vac. It sucked up half the brick and never survived.
Maybe orange just isn’t my colour.
The best thing I ever did with a mower was re-purpose it as a bird’s nest when a young, feathered family decided to move into the grass box one spring.
Now, as I enter my 60s, I don’t mind venturing into the garden. In fact, I take great pride in keeping it tidy. I’ve even gone upmarket in my old age and waved goodbye to electrical cables in favour of petrol. I started with a pull-start, switched to a push-button, then upgraded to a sit-on.
I thought I’d finally cracked it when I took delivery of my shiny new sit-on mower. I couldn’t possibly break that – could I?
Apparently, I could. Two short weeks after its first use, I turned left at the bottom of the garden, only to see the front wheel come off and turn right. The same day, I lost the knob from the gear stick, along with the brake pedal. To this day, I have no idea where they went.
My latest strimmer has blown up. My fault, I used the wrong fuel. A further trip to see my pals at the refuse centre is planned.
I think back to those other outdoor pastimes that my old civil service colleague couldn’t wait to enjoy:
Golf. I’m a natural. I love to play but never find the time.
Dog walking. I am now the proud owner of a dog. A small dog with an ego the size of an elephant. I love him to bits.
As for walking with a wife… I have a beautiful wife who I love to spend time walking with.
Forty-five years after my colleague’s retirement party, it’s now my turn to be asked how I intend to spend my retirement.
“More golf, more gardening, and more walks with my dog and my wife.”
But orange is still not my colour.
