Sunday, 19 April 2009

Cocktail hour: N


- A genuine Hayter Spirit 41. Oh yes. A man's mower. Woof.

I discovered this weekend that you realise that you're a grown up not when you first drive a car, or go to bed with a beautiful woman. No, it's when you own your first, gorgeous petrol driven lawn mower - having put away electric lawn mowers along with other childish things - and, for the first time, you survey your garden, take a deep breath, pull that cord thing...and see and hear it roar into life. It's that starting an engine by pulling on a cord that does it, for some reason, I think. The safety aspects of it all are rather worrying - am I really going to be storing petrol in my little shed? It seems I am, with the prospect of a sitcom-style shed explosion never far away - but then I'm someone who happily mowed right through the electrical cable of his old mower, so que sera, sera.

Hans thinks my new lawn mower fetish is too contemptibly suburban for words (though first he misunderstood, and recommended an interesting club in the Kings Cross area) and has specified a suitably urban and sophisticated cocktail this week, the New Yorker. It's deliciously simple: a measure of bourbon and of grenadine into a cold cocktail glass containing a cube or two of ice; a squeeze of lime, and then add the lime wedge. Et voila. Before you know it, Samantha Jones is eyeing you up across your lounge. But don't let that put you off.

Now, back to that instruction booklet for my Hayter Spirit 41, while Hans browses once more through the extras on the DVD of the Sex And The City movie...

3 comments:

Captain Haddock said...

Glad to hear you finally got round to it. Is it a rotary or a cylinder? I only ask because if it's a rotary you can have great fun slicing the tops off various fruit and vegetables (windfall apples are particularly rewarding) until one day you get a bit carried away with the seeemingly industructible nature of your man's toy and foolishly attempt to mash up a twig too far and the resultant grinding whine followed by silence leaves a sickening dread in the pit of your stomach as you realise that your father would never had been so stupid and that really you're not actually grown up enough to be left in charge of such equipment despite being forty-six years old and starting to go grey.

Jonny Mac said...

I think it must be rotary. The blades whiz round ever so fast anyway. It's much nicer than our car, and probably worth more. Though that's not saying much. I'll remember the windfall tip, sounds fun.

dNo said...

Sad news from Betley, seems the ride on has snapped its drive belt. Currently waiting for the man from Arundel Mowers to pop over with a spare.
Meanwhile the grass develops apace...
The big advantage of a ride on is that the kids sulk if they are NOT allowed to mow the lawn!