One woman went to mow..

Frances and I went to The Abbey School (for girls), Reading. There we were taught that the world was our oyster and every job opportunity open to us. There was no feminist agenda; it was never specifically mentioned that women were equal to men. They just assumed that was obvious - and if mowing the lawn was not on the curriculum, it was more because it wasn't part of the Oxbridge selection process, than because it was a 'blue' job. Frances went off to be a Doctor and I sat in the boardroom without a bra burned or a glass ceiling broken.

So this afternoon, I set out to mow the lawn. (I should point out that I have done this, before but never with our new mower). My first mistake was to waste time looking for the long lead. This entailed going into Quent's workshop - a stressful experience for anyone who even knows what OCD means, let alone suffers from the condition. (Thankfully, I don't).  Anyway it was a waste of time because it's a petrol mower and I should have known that before I stood there looking for the plug.  How 'senior' do you have to be to have a 'moment'?

The second irritation was that it wouldn't start. I thought I was doing the right thing, but had to go and get Quent down from his afternoon nap to see where I was going wrong. Once he was standing next to the machine, it started for me first time. I hadn't realised mowers counted as 'technology'.

The mower has two settings; manual and sense of humour (known in the manual as 'self drive'). Manual was a little heavy, but as soon as I put it into GSOH drive, it shot off, with me trailing behind, pretending to be fit. The way it accelerated into the flowerbeds at the end of the run was particularly 'amusing'.

I was rather proud I remembered to raise the blades to level 5 before going up the steps to the second lawn. Not quite so proud that I'd done half the new task before remembering to drop them back to level 1, but hey, there's more to this than meets the eye.

Eventually, I spotted a little picture of a tortoise next to a lever and hey presto, found my niche. I glided sedately along the last strip of grass, at peace with the world. I couldn't find the teapot shaped icon anywhere on the mower, but used the initiative I learned at The Abbey and went to put the kettle on.

(For those of you checking in for an update on Quent's medical condition, he's doing very well. He went to Scouts on Thursday and we're out to dinner tonight. His scars are healing nicely and he's remembering to take his tablets pretty much on time. He doesn't have to mow the lawn for six weeks. What's not to like?)