Weeding bores me. The day to day tidy here, tidy there, type of gardening doesn't interest me. Apart from anything else, all the weeds are back again the day after tomorrow, so it has to be done again.
But extreme weeding is different. That's really satisfying. The "nose down, crawling forward inch by inch, sore back and knees, weeds are taller than I am" type of weeding is really satisfying.
And this has been the week for it. Rain every day and then Friday and Saturday glorious sunshine. So our sticky clay soil is still moist round the roots and an expert flick with the pronged weeding thingy and dandelions, couch grass, thistles, dock, and self-seeded rape are out of the ground in no time.
When we restored the cottage, the first task of the builders was to drive a hard surfaced road down what was a grass-covered green lane. In the brambles on the edge of Serge's field we found abandoned concrete telegraph poles and these were dragged forward and laid flat, end to end, to make a sharp edge to the new road. Through winter the weeds have been spreading over and through the concrete creating grassy mounds splashed with the gold of dandelion and buttercup flowers - a green carpet steadily spreading back out across the road surface. The green lane is re-establishing itself. Friends suggest using weed killer. But this offends my organic sensibilities. I'm tempted to leave it, but know that that would annoy Tod. So the weeds (at least here) have got to go.
Oh the satisfaction of standing up to ease an aching back and turning round to see behind me that weed-free clean edge of the concrete post nestling in the grit and pebbles at the side of the road! Never mind that there's another seventy metres of road edge weeding still to do in front of me. Extreme weeding rocks!