Today Daniel had to endure his own little episode of Ground Force, except this was no surprise. No old lady coming back to find her neglected pile of mud behind her house had been transformed into the gardens at Windsor Castle. Just me, Dad and a crack team of gardeners. Well, when I say crack, it was more like crackpot. There was no Tommy Walsh or that ginger lesbian. It was a 62 year old guy from Ireland and a lexically challenged teenage oaf.
Now I'm not one for manual labour. It's what slaves and criminals on community service do. I consider myself to be neither, therefore I refuse to pick up any kind of DIY item. However, this time was different. There was my Dad's sanity at stake. Mum guilt tripped me into helping Dad before 'he got tired, miserable, grumpy and probably topped himself'. At that point I was thinking how to spend the inevitable inheritance and decided my efforts would be better spent doing fuck all. But then a bottle of Disaronno was bought to the negotiating table, and that just made the deal, quite literally, a little bit sweeter.
So, donned in a pair of wellies and some old clothes that were clearly bought in my 'unfashionable phase', I rocked up onto the set of Ground Force to find the rest of my garden crew were stuttering to the point of collapse. They had after all been working since 8am and it was now 2 in the afternoon. The teenage oaf was callously shovelling dirt into a wheelbarrow (probably the most mentally taxing task he'd undertaken since trying to remove a lid from a can of spray paint). The Irish man was talking in totally inaudible mumbles. I thought for a moment he'd got a bit too into the Avatar spirit and had learnt Na'vi. Then I realised he just wanted a cup of tea and was speaking Irish. Some people... My poor old Dad was there as well, looking well and truly shattered. No matter, Daniel stepped in to help his poor old man...
...for about 3 and a half minutes, before I remembered I am in fact me, and cannot stand gardening or physical movement at weekends. I honestly don't know what the appeal is with a garden. My parents say 'ooooh you'll appreciate a nice garden with a few plants when you're older and greyer'. Fair enough, but this doesn't sound very much like me. There's not even a water feature in my garden, and you could tell it was going to be a good episode of Ground Force when the designers threw in a waterfall or fish pond for good measure. Unfortunately, the Irish man nor the teenage oaf had come to install water features, instead, they'd come to dig up the grass and relay some better grass.
At that point I gave up caring. The amount of mess everywhere (quite how Titchmarsh et ál manage to clear up in the 7 days too, which makes me seriously doubt the integrity of this pledge that they actually manage to finish in 7 days) for a simple replacement of grass. Honestly, I could have cleared the garden a damn sight quicker with a bottle of Smirnoff and a box of matches. Oh and what's the bane of any Ground Force episode? Rain. And boy did it rain today. It did the lovely topsoil no good whatsoever.
From today then, I've learnt several important lessons. The first is never ever attempt gardening. Just send a tape with a sob story to Alan Titchmarsh and pray. I know Ground Force isn't on anymore but I don't think Dimmock and Walsh are turning down work at the moment. The second rule is don't accept deals on the backing of free alcohol. No amount of Italian liqueur is going to make up for a day of chronic back ache and ruined hands.
And the final rule, never think you can emulate a TV programme. It's all witchcraft. Now, let's have a go at making my car a bit chavvier...
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