Getting high on grass and eating al fresco.

I am not a grass fan, let me say that at the outset, but I am not against other people using it and I know that it is great if you want to relax, outside. So let's just say that when I realised the back garden here in Rumaucourt was full of the stuff and that it was getting to be knee high it didn't take me long to work out that it would be me who would be drawing the short straw. OK, as far as I am concerned a nice lawn is one thing but to achieve such a thing you can kiss goodbye to even one lazy week in the summer unless you have a gardener or it is bob a job week.

Luckily the grass here is not of lawn standard but is more your green covering for the semi field behind the house masquerading as a garden ie it just needed a good manly chop rather than a trendy or classic coupe and brushing.

First hurdle, the lawnmower: one of those big noisy petrol-driven jobbies with a thing on a string you have to pull in order to start the motor. I couldn't find a container anywhere and realised that even had I one it would be full every 2 minutes. It took me a few minutes but finally I got it going - I had even managed to adjust the height of the blade as I had worked out the wheels could be raised or lowered - and I strode confidently along behind it along the garden as if this was something I do on a regular basis.

Second hurdle, the grass: in patches it was a good 70cm high and although the blade managed to cut some of the length, most was just flattened and before long the motor cut out intermittently once the mulched grass had built up to the extent that the whirling of the blade was impeded.

I remembered not to push but to follow and I only had one slightly embarrassing moment when I almost got pulled into a flowerbed, not counting the numerous times I had my hat knocked off my head by an evil tree branch. I was wearing my rather fetching Moroccan "peasant" straw hat with up or downturned brim last sported at the Tower of London.

After a break for lunch I was back at it, refilling the tank when it ran out of fuel and regoing over everything a second time with the blade lowered a notch. It may not be to Wimbledon Lawn Tennis standards- actually the molehills have seen to that - but it is tidy and I felt quite high when I had finished. It was probably because it was so hot and I was out of breath and breathing in the petrol fumes.

I haven't changed my mind though, the bits of green posing as a lawn at our house in Hellemmes-Lilles are going!

Must get back to my home-made pissaladière and warm lentil salad. The (court)yard here is a bit of a micro-climate, lined on three sides with brick walls which soak up the sun's rays all day then release them during the evening. Far better than one of those trendy outdoor heater things. Surely they must be bad for the environment?