There was a small increase in global deforestation recently. It happens about once every three months, or when one of the neighbours complains. Allegedly. I suspect the landlord makes up their complaints to remind us about the garden without having to whinge about it himself. I also suspect our lives would be easier if we just bought a mower but for some reason it’s an unpopular option.
There isn’t a single English word for which I know the Polish equivalent but when I told one of the gardeners we were only booking them for an hour and he started speaking it, I knew damn well what he was saying. I told him this and he started laughing. I apologised for being so tight and explained that I only had agreement from the housemates to pay for an hour, which was true. I still felt like a bit of a bastard though.
I decided that if they couldn’t get all the weeds in that time, I’d pull them myself. It was a risky strategy. Last time I put on the gardening gloves, our front lawn ended up looking like someone had taken a bite out of a pot of cress and spat it out back into the container.
The most embarrassing part was when I offered them a drink and then realised I only had water. I wonder if I could’ve made up a list of horrible alternatives to create the illusion of choice. Grapefruit squash. Tomato juice. Gin. I suppose not everyone’s as fussy as me when it comes to drinks, so it probably would’ve backfired.
They cleared all the weeds within the hour with time to spare. I’d got them to undercut our regular gardener. Either I was a tremendous negotiator or a horrible human being. Probably both. In fairness, living in a shared house leaves one’s hands somewhat tied. I left them the single greatest review anyone has ever left anyone for anything. I was surprised it fitted in the comments box. The last part was more of an apology for my poor hospitality and a promise to do better in future. Would I remember to get tea, coffee and juice? They’d find out in about three months’ time.
There isn’t a single English word for which I know the Polish equivalent but when I told one of the gardeners we were only booking them for an hour and he started speaking it, I knew damn well what he was saying. I told him this and he started laughing. I apologised for being so tight and explained that I only had agreement from the housemates to pay for an hour, which was true. I still felt like a bit of a bastard though.
I decided that if they couldn’t get all the weeds in that time, I’d pull them myself. It was a risky strategy. Last time I put on the gardening gloves, our front lawn ended up looking like someone had taken a bite out of a pot of cress and spat it out back into the container.
The most embarrassing part was when I offered them a drink and then realised I only had water. I wonder if I could’ve made up a list of horrible alternatives to create the illusion of choice. Grapefruit squash. Tomato juice. Gin. I suppose not everyone’s as fussy as me when it comes to drinks, so it probably would’ve backfired.
They cleared all the weeds within the hour with time to spare. I’d got them to undercut our regular gardener. Either I was a tremendous negotiator or a horrible human being. Probably both. In fairness, living in a shared house leaves one’s hands somewhat tied. I left them the single greatest review anyone has ever left anyone for anything. I was surprised it fitted in the comments box. The last part was more of an apology for my poor hospitality and a promise to do better in future. Would I remember to get tea, coffee and juice? They’d find out in about three months’ time.
Company used: Fantastic Services.
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