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I hate mowing lawns and here's why.When we emigrated to Oz, my parents built their 1st house in the suburbs of Brisbane. Small house big block. Soon after we moved in Dad had this grandiose idea of half the back yard for veggies and half for lawn as well as the obligatory front lawn and grass verge. Just after planting the grass and the 1st dig over of the veggie patch, Dad was called away to Mount Isa as there was some major hassle with the airport electricals. He rushed down to the shops and bought this 2nd hand, hand push cylindrical mower, (the type you clean billiard tables with), "There ya go son once a week should be good!!!!!"The week went by, I trotted out the dreaded beast and endeavoured to push it through the grass, which by this time was 4" tall. I mowed a small strip in the never ending sward of green and stopped because I was completely knackered.In the intervening 6 weeks I slogged away at this small strip and kept it down. The rest of the lawn??? looked more like a field of almost ripe wheat. The veggie patch was now masquerading as a weed patch and nothing edible was growing therein.Dad came home and was less than impressed with my efforts; before he started swinging, I managed to convince him, "Go on muscles have a go." He struggled up my already mowed strip with the hand mower. Gasping for breath and leaning heavily on the handles he mumbled "Bloody Hell," followed by, "Come with Me."He threw the mower in the boot of the car, drove down the shop and bought a brand spanking new Ogden rotary mower. Needless to say my job was raking up the cut grass, (there was no grass catcher), whilst my lord and master mowed to his hearts content.Oh yes, now we had a proper mower and Dad had tried digging over and weeding the veggie patch, that too became lawn and our veggies were bought from the shop.Best RegardsBob