The 6Nations is finished, long live the return to the URC and EPCR. Quite a few matches this weekend to look forward to starting with the Sharks (Hollywood not Sale!) just after midday.
There comes a moment in every SME’s life when you look out at your once-loved garden, spot the creeping mass of thorny chaos, and realize: today is the day I fight the briars again…
I didn’t plan this battle; I have no idea how the briars got there… I got rid of them in the autumn, but like the Terminator, they came back. Mocking me: spiky, smug, and multiplying like they’ve got shares in the Bitcoin.
Act 1: Overconfidence
“How bad can it be?” I muttered, rolling up my sleeves like a hero in a gardening western. Armed with my rusty secateurs and a pair of gloves that definitely aren’t thorn-proof, I marched into battle; two minutes later, I realized that I had once again underestimated the enemy.
Briars don’t play fair. They don’t grow in straight lines or polite clumps. No, they weave themselves through shrubs, around trees, into the air, maybe even into another dimension. By the time you find the root, you’re convinced you’re halfway to Australia…
Act 2: Existential Crisis
I’ve tugged. I’ve snipped. I’ve uttered a few choice words. The briars retaliated by lashing back and reeling off internal monologues like:
“You thought you got me last year, but nooo… you didn’t “I’m back!”
Now look at you; sweaty, bleeding, and questioning your life choices.”
My gloves are not thick enough and my arms look like I lost a fight with a tom cat that didn’t want to be “Caught, Neutered & Released”. I briefly considered just moving house. Or setting fire to it all. Either option feels less painful than pulling one more thorn out of my thumb.
Act 3: The False Victory
After about an hour, I stood victoriousl I’d cleared a patch, the sun was still shining, and for a brief, glorious moment, I felt like I’d found the source of the Nile.
But as I was putting the tools away, I spotted it: one smug little tendril I’d missed, waving gently in the breeze like it’s flipping me off.
And that’s when reality hit me; I’ve not won the battle, just merely survived Round One. The briars are patient. They know I’ll get busy. They know I’ll forget. And when I do… they’ll be back!
Briar cutting isn’t gardening; it’s a test of character and my ability to avoid the thorns. It’s Mother Nature’s way of humbling us all!
But there’s a weird satisfaction in it too. Because no matter how many scratches you get, or how many times you get tangled like a Victorian damsel in distress, you are doing it. You’re reclaiming your garden, one thorn at a time!
Photo by Melissa Wilson
