I've been power-washing in my shorts today. Obviously not in my shorts, that would be disruptive to the flora and fauna taking up residence in that region. I was in my cut off pantaloons power-washing the path into the abode. And there's the evidence. Not me in the shorts, that image has been responsible for making grown women and midwives weep with pain, or run away. I resisted having a power washing machine for years, then last year when in Hexham, I succumbed to an offer in Homebase. Well it was Boxing Day and I'd just left the pub. That was a tremendous meal actually at the Rat in Anick with my mate who then lived at Chollerton. I seem to be digressing.
Back to the washing with power. About every six months the urge comes upon me to blast the dirt. Wellies on I moved the classic Renault Clio out of the garage and as it was a sunny day took it for a 6 mile spin. It's not been driven for nearly 2 months and started on the first turn - love that car. Clearing the Clio out of the garage revealed the Karcher beast lurking at the back, like a monster banana with a Kalashnikov ... Locked and Loaded an hour later I had blasted the paving to within an inch of it's life. Boys and toys eh, and yes being a bloke, I did do some quick draw leaf blasting in the style of a Spaghetti Western. I was Clint, eyes closed by too much sun, smoking a cigar, waiting for the first twitch from the baddie ...pechow, pechow..... pechow. As the smoke drifted away and I re-holstered the gun, those pesky leaves lay strewn over the ground, I was VICTORIOUS. The fastest draw in the village. A very satisfying way to while away a mild sunny morning in Somerset I have to say. I'll tidy up the mess I made next week.
No comments:
Post a Comment