Breathe me . . .

I hate these . . I love these . . I hate these . . .this my friends, is a grey gum. One of many varieties of eucalypt that live on my block. One of over 60 on my five acres of paradise that continues to shed it's bark, leaves, gumnuts and sap every day, all day, all week, month and year . . .and this is where it all began . .


It's all getting a bit overwhelming. My Saturday's are like many other's Saturdays. I get up early, plonk around the blog. Have a chat with the Paduan on Skype and launch into a day of activity. Repetitive, never ending, monotonous activity.

I had a tanty today. A full blown screaming banshee, all swearing, door slamming bucket throwing tantrum. Living on five acres is wonderful if you can afford a hunk of spunk to maintain it but even with three of us (the bro is useless) it's a huge affair controlling things. Because we chose to live 'wild' and not manicure our garden. Frankly. It's a bloody mess.

I think I'm getting to old for this Saturday backbreaking work business. While he who would be a rock star is over at Kurnell on a photoshoot and she who would moonlight as a web designer shot over to discount eyewear to order new contact lenses (although she did clean her room and change her linen before going), I was left with the usual mountains of washing, cleaning, grubby windows and flyscreens, leaf blowing, cobweb dossing, weed infested bundle of shit to contend with and I'm not even talking about the speed dating centre for Wood Ducks that the great green greasy limpopo pond of a pool has become.. All would have been fine if the fucking blower had started first time.


You see, I've hurt my back. I'm stuffed if I know how. I believe as you get older and your muscles waste, the disks in your spine lose fluid and so lower back pain is common in older people! Well I'm not having that! I'm only 52 for fuck's sakes.

I've never had back problems in my life but it's a really dull bruised sciatica pain across my lower back that's making me irritable and less flexible than usual. Even a good lathering of Voltarin is not quite enough to dull the pain. Not that I normally cartwheel over to the washing line but it is about 50 metres away and carrying a few loads of wet towels and landscapers togs certainly made me twinge. I probably shouldn't have washed the floor either but having totally ignored housework since before Easter, it really had to be done.

So with house clean, sheets changed, washing hung, empties tossed and floors washed . . .I grab the leaf blower which my son has very kindly purloined as an integral part of his garden maintenance equipment. No problem with him borrowing it but it's now had the bejesus banjaxed out of it.

I bought it specially because it's easy to start, it has a left hand pull - perfect for a cacky hander like me - and a three stage choke. Not today . . the spark plug's wobbly, the choke is threatening to come loose from its moorings, the carby is wobbly, the pull is making a clunky splatty noise and the damn thing wouldn't start. So after a few delightful expletives that my neighbour probably heard from 500m away with earplugs in . . .the old girl did crank up. Fantastic . .I'm pootling along the driveway, all going well. Take my finger off the trigger for a nanosecond to check the mail box and the biatch conks out. No problem . . back up towards the house. A little more two-stroke and . . . then it began . . .after about 10 minutes of pulling, swearing, flooding I hit the roof, lost my bottle, had a hissy fit, chucked a maddy, did a wobbly, went off my nut, pulled the plug, chucked a narnie . . .went totally ballistic! Birds scattered, frogs stopped chirping, ducks flapped off in a panic, horses pricked their ears and the dog ran behind the shed.

I'm a bit embarrassed about it now. My niece is next door and afraid to come out of the house. Had the dog been nearer she'd have copped a thong up the arse as well. So I had to contend with slamming a few doors, screaming every profanity known to man - and a few I made up - except the c-bomb, even I have scruples - before hurling the bucket of dirty mop water about 5 metres up the garden. Man I've got an 'arm' when I'm angry! I should think about shot put.

Amazing how cathartic writing this down has been. . I've yelled, screamed, accused, threatened to toss both kids out - of course whilst neither were here - and after a nice cup of tea, a quick comment on a couple of blogs . . . I'm ready to do battle with the blower once again! Oooh me back!

PS it behaved the second time but just for good measure I nicked a glass of Adam's merlot and had it with a rather nice Leicester cheese for lunch. That'll teach him!


Fucking weeds . . . .next week they will feel the wrath of she who must not be fucked with! See, that word sometimes . .is the best medicine ever! "Oh blast!" just doesn't cut the mustard! Take a few deep breaths . .breathe . . breathe . . .

PS: This was all about me doing too much and insisting on doing it 'now' than others doing too little. The kids are fantastic in their help and support. I'd lose my bottle more often if they didn't help out!