You Want Us To What?

I have been living in Sydney on and off for the better part of fourteen years. I have not had, shared or been near anything that resembles a garden in that time. Not one of the properties I lived in had anything like a garden that one could, proudly or otherwise call 'a garden'. The last time I donned gumboots and a rake I was getting paid 20 cents an hour for the privilege. The last time I revved up Dad's old lawnmower, I was wearing thongs and Stubbies. The fact that a Father would allow his 12 year old son to mow the lawn in thongs places us straight away in the mid 80's...Glory days indeed....When not only were we allowed to go to the Dashwood dump in the very same thongs BUT were allowed to do it riding shotgun on top of a pile of rusted corrugated iron in the back of the Valiant Ute (Orange) as we wound up Waterfall Gully Road. I even vaguely remember the local cops form the Feathers Police Station waving to us as we drove past. Gold. Them the days, when kids were kids and parents didn't care as long as you were home for dinner. But this isn't a blog about my reminiscence of childhood, although that's not a bad idea but instead it is a blog about how I, at 37 years of age have inherited an immaculate Garden and a Lawn as part of a lease on beautiful house my partner and I have moved into. As part of the lease terms, we promised to maintain the surrounding garden and lawn. Apart from a few sideways glances behind the property managers back, we both thought 'How hard can it be?'.....That is exactly what I plan to write about. Just how clueless I am and the gradual education of my gardening knowledge and experience. Dumb thing to write about? Totally. Pointless? Yes. And so I begin.....