On Sunday I decided to bite the bullet and buy a strimmer to tackle the garden again. It had been over a year since I’d last done it, and last week I swear I saw a man in a loincloth swing past on a vine.
For those who don’t know what a strimmer looks like, it’s one of these.
In fact, this is the exact model I bought.
I got it home, assembled it and ventured into the garden to kick Mother Nature in the vagina.
‘This is going to be fun’ I thought to myself as I pulled the trigger and the 350 watt engine roared into life. I felt manly and primal as I revved the engine in a threatening manner. The greenery in front of me was about to feel nylon death.
After 30 seconds of sheer and utter joyful destruction, the strimmer stopped cutting. I switched it off, checked underneath and saw that the spool of nylon cord had snapped.
Actually, if it had simply snapped I could’ve pressed the ‘manual feed’ button and pulled more thread through the holes, but this had snapped completely and gone inside the spool. The feeling was similar to noticing the cord on your joggers (sweat pants) had retracted inside the holes.
No problem; I’ll just open up the spool and manually feed it through. I soon discovered that threading the small red nylon cord through tiny aluminium holes in the ‘feeder’ was like trying to perform keyhole surgery with your elbows.
(not actual photo, but close enough)
After 3 or 4 minutes of silent rage and suppressed expletives I was back in business.
Tearing through the flora again made me feel alive; alive I tell you! I shredded through the overgrowth like an 80’s action hero with an Uzi.
It was short lived, however. Another 20 seconds and the same thing happened again.
I could see where this was going.
This time the nylon cord had not only snapped and retracted into the spool, but it had melted slightly and fused itself to both the spool and the coiled up nylon cord inside.
A further 5 or 6 minutes of keyhole surgery, and some less silent rage and expletives, and I was up and running again.
Feel nylon death you bastard garden!
Another 15 seconds and it happened again. This time I had to prise the melted cord away from the spool with a screwdriver.
This went on for a while. In fact, on the 8th time of doing this the nylon cord decided to unspool itself fully right before my eyes.
The strimmer now looks like this.
In its 20 minute working life it had one function.
Time to call a gardener.