I really don't understand the prejudice against your simple, four-stroke push-along lawnmower. Sure, I'm hardly going to use it to clear the paddocks. But for the back yard and the orchard, I really don't need a big, expensive ride-on job. And it would take a hell of a ride-on to handle the remaining thirty or so acres that need to be slashed regularly, so I've got a small but enthusiastic tractor for that job.
Anyhow. I fueled up the Honda, checked the oil and the air filter, yanked the cord a couple of times, and it purred nicely. Great! Time to bring the yard back under control...
... but what the fuck happened to my nice, cool morning? By ten o'clock this morning, it was 24C in the shade -- and there was precious little shade on my damned back yard.
At this point, every mainlander who reads this is thinking something rude. To which I must reply: get stuffed. 24 is unseasonably hot, and the direct sun in Tasmania lacks a lot of useful ozone filtration that most of you are used to. I really didn't enjoy hauling that mower around the place at all.
Through the day, the temperature crept upward. By 1430 it peaked at 29C, which isn't just unseasonable, but unacceptable, thanks. I loaded the kids up on ice treats once they got home from school, and we kept our lilywhite asses indoors for the remainder of the nasty, hot, bright afternoon.
Things are better now. It's about 15C outside, which is pretty much the perfect temperature so far as I'm concerned. Next time I tackle that goddam yard, I'll be mowing at night.
It's due to be another warm one tomorrow, apparently, with the faint possibility of thundery showers -- and a 75% chance of Dave Sag sometime after 1500, if all goes to plan.
I haven't seen Dave in quite some time. This should be entertaining.
