Gardening has long been considered the domain of the aged, alone, and curious abominations with scissors for fingers, I considered this fact for a moment, then, realising that I was most of these things, headed out into the garden.
With little understanding of the actual act of Gardening, I set about making things look a little prettier by giving my garden the equivalent of a haircut. As I stood, casually hacking my way through dried banana fronds with an oversized pair of nail clippers, I wondered to myself – why is it that weaver ants always manage to find the softest most sensitive part of your body to sink their tiny pincers in? The answer is simple, and occurred to me shortly after realising my entire body was covered with little green bastards, tripping over, rolling down a hill and hitting my head on the sharp coner of a large brick structure – my house.
There is somethign about waking up with a mild sunburn and concussion after having received paper cuts to hundreds of places on your body that is truely enlightening – no wonder I paid people to do this before.