‘What have you been doing this week?’ My hairdresser asked as a way of getting me talking.
I thought for a moment and told her ‘I learnt to scythe.’
‘As you do’ she said, the stock answer to an unusual statement these days.
But it was with great satisfaction that I said those words. What had started out as mere interest in the art of cutting grass with a large blade had become a source of great pride.
I had, with great trepidation, undertaken the British Scythe Associations introductory course to the art of mowing due mainly to peer pressure. Who in their right mind would want to stand in an open field in the scorching sun and thrash away at long grass with a razor-sharp blade on the end of a pole? As a lifelong idler, I could think of nothing worse.
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