My War On Front Lawn

When I drive down a street looking at the houses, I always want to grab hold of them and drag them forwards seven or eight metres.

Why are houses always built so far back from the road?

What is the purpose of a front garden?

It offers no privacy. You can't relax there. It offers no protection. Your kids can't play unsupervised there. If you had all that space round the BACK of your house, you could have a swimming pool or a tennis court or a cherry orchard.

What does everyone have instead?

Lawn.

And what's a front lawn good for?

Why, judging your neighbours, of course!

An overgrown lawn could mean low socioeconomic group, a family on extended holidays or a broken lawnmower.

A lawn that's well-mown but weed infested, well, that spells harried tradesman or father of eight, both of which not only mow intermittently but set the mower at its lowest and most brutal in the vain hope of slowing summer growth.

Or perhaps it's a bunch of students in a share house who only pay for the mowing when an inspection is due.

There's the lawn that gets periodically poop-covered by the genius who thinks that rain is a sure thing and causes an inevitable eight week drought. That well-intentioned yet bumbling fool probably works for the council or behind a desk at Dell.

Meanwhile, a perfectly manicured lawn that's roped off to keep the local brats at bay almost certainly indicates a pensioner.

I hate front lawns.

I refuse to have one.

The problem is, I've just purchased this:














I plan for this lawn to be the very first casualty of my War.

Well, the second, actually.

The very first will be that noxious oleander. Ick!

If I have to have a front garden, It Shalt Not Be Lawn.

Instead, I will put it to a good use.

As I've already mentioned, front lawns are no good for relaxing, or for playing in. So I'm going to put my front garden to the only remaining obvious use.

Food, glorious food.

Stay tuned.