IT’S that time of year that every male house owner secretly dreads.
Summer. The reason we hate it? We have no more excuses to put off that gardening and repair work to the outside of the house.
If you’re anything like me, you take to gardening like a fish to air. Man About Town Manor hasn’t exactly been kept in great repair over the past few years.
I started painting sections of the fence two years ago but still haven’t finished the job.
The Sistine Chapel was probably finished in quicker time. The shed isn’t exactly in top condition either.
The roof needs repaired and the rain is getting in. This makes starting the lawnmower a more interesting adventure than any sane person would like.
It doesn’t help matters that the neighbours are all gardening junkies. At the first glimpse of sunshine, they’ll be out in droves with their trowels and paint, putting yours truly to shame.
Even when I cut the grass it doesn’t seem to be quite as short or tidy as the neighbours’.
I’m convinced it’s some sort of practical joke or they are all using some high tech grass cutting equipment that I’m not privy to.
I made the mistake of raising the stakes by starting the gardening early this year.
My plan being to cut the grass every two weeks, I began in earnest and was happy enough with the eventual outcome, the sun was shining and the garden looked respectable.
That was until Woman About Town emerged from the house and decided to make some alterations to the makeup of our lawn.
Her decision to uproot a bush means there’s even more grass for me to cut this year.
Not exactly the biggest problem, you might say, but you, like her, weren’t taking into account the fact that this is a World Cup year.
The last place I need to be is stuck out in the garden when there’s football matches to be watched nearly every day.
If you ask me, this is yet another example of women taking men for granted.