by James Venn

Created on: August 22, 2007

It was going to be one of those days, I mused. One of those rare weekends when I was going to have my time to myself and my garden. My wife was away with friends and the sun was shining. The recent rains had brought a rich lush verdance to my lawn that was in danger of overtaking me. I brewed my morning coffee and took a deep breath of the fresh country air. What had I done to make me so lucky, I innocently though.

I sipped my coffee as I meandered around the beds, beautiful early summer blooms framing the lawn. Amazing really, I thought, given that the soil hadn't been enriched for a few years. In the past it had been an annual ritual to have one for the local women pop around and sell me a trailer load of manure from the back of a battered land rover in exchange for a handful of coins, but I had failed to do that recently as work had been getting the better of me.

Hmm, I thought, a flash of exuberant gardening creativity touching me. Perhaps I could remedy this problem. . . it wasn't too late in the year and my wife would thank me when she returned. I could see her face as she walked through the gate, in awe of my green fingers. I had the time, I had the talent, I'd be mad not to I decided. Wouldn't I?

I marched off to our garden shed with a new sense of determination and conviction. I rummaged through the implements dotted around my shed. I left this sort of thing to Dave, our gardener, usually, as he had reorganised my tools and I felt somewhat at a loss as to where everything was. I rummaged some more. Finally I saw it, hidden behind my plastic summer dining table, my tried and tested sprayer. I had used it last with a mixture of plant foods and water some summers past when the lawn had been looking particularly patchy. I had sprayed the lawn thoroughly, sure it was due to the poor soil in our area, and, as if by magic, the lawn had shone through and gone from a mangy yellow to delicious green.

I yanked the casing out of the shed, my past success dancing in front of my eyes, only to be brought crashing back as I staggered under the surprising weight of the sprayer. I caught my balance and placed the container down. Upon examination, I realised, much to my surprise, that it was still quarter full. I would have expected it to be empty after all this time, but no, it was most certainly around quarter full. I breathed a sigh of relief, I had been worried that it would have rusted up in the corner of my shed through lack of use but now realised that Dave must have

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