Turf War

Accountant and I both know that, in order to co-exist happily, time spent in each other’s company must not exceed 72 hours per week. That’s why, undertaking a joint project that requires constant togetherness over a four day period was never going to be an enjoyable experience for either party.

All DIY projects undertaken at Chez Chickie have a clear pecking order. I’m foreman, he’s labourer. Accountant isn’t gifted in the ‘practicality’ department and requires specific, precise and repeated instructions as well as constant supervision to ensure he doesn’t kill himself, kill anyone else or wreak complete devastation (much like Chickie). However, Accountant rebels against supervision, reacting especially belligerently to any kind of questioning, interference or instruction. He also despises DIY but despises paying someone else to do it even more.

The final element that made this situation particularly volatile was the budget. Accountant opting for a “revamp the garden for 50p or less” policy whilst I erred on the side of “ooh, I like that. That’s nice. What about one of those?…Look at those yummy pink gardening gloves!”. With all our ‘divorced by Monday’ ducks lined up in a row, we drove to the Garden Centre to buy the turf.

Arguing about a complete returf versus a semi returf began before we even reached the Garden Centre. Debate continued inside and got heated when I started heaping top soil onto our trolley. Intense questioning as to what purpose top soil served and a cost/benefit analysis followed. The next discussion - cheap weed ridden turf versus quality weed free turf. Wishing more than ever that I could generate my own income without compromising my cushy lifestyle, I ran away to the garden hoses to consider my strategy to get one to feature on our till receipt.

After dedicating my evenings to watching Gardeners World and back to back episodes of Ground Force, I now consider myself an expert horticulturalist and Accountant’s tedious, amateur questions about every purchase were stifling my plans to create the perfect seaside country garden.

Thanks to Accountant’s audit, turfing commenced hours later than scheduled. More hours later, I surveyed my work (Accountant had moved on to the less labour intensive job of drinking beer). Whilst the 10 squared metres of new lawn looked lush and fabulous, next to the old patchy lawn, it looked ridiculous. Arguing over returfing the whole lawn recommenced and continued into the night and throughout the weekend.

Eventually, Accountant refused to discuss it any further. I felt like a child being told ‘No’ by it’s parent. “But it’s NOT fair” I screamed, stamping my feet.

As there's no other parent to play him off against in this scenario, seeing how I'm a grown woman and all, I’d like votes (preferably in my favour). Please see photo of our stripey lawn. If you, like me, think it's being shown up by Wyevale's finest and needs replacing, email me at peaseyweasey@yahoo.co.uk


Please note: Accountant's friends and family members need not reply.