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I Told You So

Liz Moore

I've been a Do-It-Yourselfer all my life, and, without wishing to brag, I think I might say without fear of contradiction, that I'm a handy lass to have around. However, I have encountered snags. There are two things I can be sure of - every man-made machine will grind to a halt and probably fall apart at my feet as soon as I cast a glance in its direction, and when it does, there'll be a man around, not to help, but to tell me what I've done wrong.

My cylinder mower snapped its belts with the rapidity of a repeater rifle.

'It's time you got rid of that old thing and bought one of those rotaries.' My neighbour, ever present when misfortune befalls.

For once I thought he was right.

The very latest in rotaries was a joy, so light, manoeuvrable and above all, belt-less. Why had I struggled so long? I cut everything in sight - except the dog's tail and the flex, and they only narrowly escaped.

Little puffs of smoke appeared where smoke had no right to be. 'You've overloaded it,' said my neighbour with a smirk. 'You can't expect that little thing to cut all that grass.'

'How does it know there is all that to cut?' I asked reasonably. After all, it had no eyes and no memory. It just went from one blade to the next.

He ignored my infantile remark. 'Motor's burnt out. You can get a reconditioned one.'

The salesman thought I really ought to consider having a bigger machine. (I had made the mistake of telling him my grass was not the well-behaved kind shown on TV adverts.)

It was a beautiful deluxe model that would 'cut anything, anywhere, rough or smooth, and was light enough for even the slenderest lady to use all day.'

'All day,' perhaps, but not all season.

'Send it back. It's under guarantee. I don't know why you got it. I told you that other one only needed a reconditioned motor.'

'You also told me it was too small,' I muttered.

The replacement was no better.

'You haven't broken another one?' He puffed smoke in my face from the pipe that he insisted dispersed midges.

'It's supposed to float on a cushion of air but it digs in and shudders to a halt.'

He examined the circle burnt in the turf that looked like the imprint of a pigmy's space ship. 'Grass is too long. You don't cut it often enough.'

I struggled on, pushing and tugging, believing he was right, it was my fault and there was nothing wrong with the machine. I couldn't be so unlucky and I had a million other things to do so grass cutting was not on the top of my list of priorities.

The purr of the motor that the adverts said wouldn't disturb the closest neighbour began to sound more like a pack of bikers doing a ton at full throttle. Then came the now familiar sparks and smoke and I was back to normal, on my knees beside a useless mower, screwdriver and spanner at the ready.

I replaced the burnt out wires and started it up. It clattered like a tinker's cart when the horse is galloping home.

For once I got in first. 'It shouldn't make that noise.'

He shifted his cap to the back of his head, scratched his bald patch and twisted the ancient tweed headgear until it sat comfortably again. 'It's the grass that's too long. Motor's having to work too hard.'

I grinned. Even he was beaten. He was repeating himself.

When I'd taken the thing apart I stopped grinning. The impeller was in two pieces and looked as if it had been gnawed by hungry mice. I held up the mutilated bits and he gave a self-satisfied smirk.

'Don't know why you got rid of that cylinder mower. Much more robust. They don't make 'em like that any more.'

I took the monster back. It was still under guarantee. But guaranteed to do what? Certainly not cut my grass.

We're out of parts, I was told. It could be months.

Maybe I wasn't the only one in trouble?

My neighbour told me I should contact Rent-a-goat. That sounded like a brilliant idea. Animals had no belts to snap, no wires to smoulder, no motors to burn out.

What the goats had was an insatiable appetite. They ate everything they could reach, even balancing on their hind legs when the need arose.

My neighbour could think of nothing to say, but he smiled a lot.

I got out my hammer and nails and put up fencing where I hadn't intended having any. I didn't notice where the goats had got to when I was working.

Pity! The dahlias next door used to be a picture...