'You have to seed it, weed it, water it, roll it and rake it, trim it, edge it scarify it and mow it'.

(From The Northern Echo)

Byline: sharon griffiths

THERE is something so beautiful about the perfect lawn - so smooth, so green so manicured. It cries out for champagne and strawberries , for lazy afternoons enjoying the best of the British summer. Deceptive, isn't it?

Because that perfect lawn, that brilliant green neat and immaculate turf , far from being a symbol of laziness, actually represents hours and hours of work and a quest for perfection that borders on the manic.

You have to seed it, feed it and weed it, water it, roll it and rake it, trim it, edge it, scarify it, and, of course, mow it. Many, many times throughout the summer. And if you've done all that, of course, the last thing you're going to do is to let people walk on it, spoil the stripes, leave marks on it.

Many years ago, a boyfriend casually dropped a cigarette end on his parents' lawn and his father went wild, came swooping out of the house, picked it up, titivated the little burnt patch, cursed his son, the cigarettes and all the giants of Imperial Tobacco. It was an impressive and terrifying performance.

"What would he have done, " I asked, "if you'd set fire to the house."