Rebel With a Cause

It should not be a surprise to anyone that it just started to rain when I emerged from the South Kensington station for my run to Balham. The weather reminds me daily in which country I decided to live. I welcomed the rain as it meant I wouldn't need to take my jacket off. The 7km run was good. I crossed the Thames at quite handsome Albert Bridge. The path through Battersea Park let my battered hip joints have a little rest from the tarmac. I enjoyed the muddy track running through Clapham Common too.

When I was stretching before coming to Mrs G's, her sister Ms S arrived. She had shears. Now, Dear Reader, I owe you a little bit of explanation. The issue of tools was the hot topic this morning in emails and calls between Ms S, Dave from Mission Control and me. We didn't know until the last minute whether Ms S would secure the shears. It turned out she did. She was very determined to do that and I was happy to see a brand new tool available.

Not everyone shared my optimism. Ms S warned me that her sister had doubts about carrying out the task. Ms S had to ask her permission to let me do the job. After quite an animated exchange between the sisters in a language I did not understand, I knew the outcome.

Permission denied.

Mrs G said it was too difficult and didn't want the task done in the rain. On the other hand, Ms S, who lives in North London and put a lot of effort into organising help for her sister, didn't accept the status quo. She understood how GoodGym worked and knew that cancelling anytime and hoping for a replacement volunteer would be a risky card to play. Having come a long way to South London, she unleashed her inner David Bowie and became Rebel Rebel.

She quietly led me to the back garden and promised she would later sort things out with Mrs G. Ms S said her sister had been difficult and kept changing her mind about going ahead with the garden job. That uncertainty and the state of the garden were causing Ms S distress. She really wanted the mission to go ahead but was worried about me working in the rain. I wasn't.

The mission objective was cutting the grass. Kash loves a good power tool, like a strimmer or mower, doesn't she? It was a bit surprising to me to use shears for that job, but given the heavy rain, I wouldn't want to deal with electricity outdoors. Now, why did Ms S chose shears? I believe it was because she had a different definition of grass than me. When Ms S showed me the back garden, I discovered it was a bramble patch! No grass whatsoever. Well, no grass, no problem - and the shears came in handy.

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" asked Ms S.
"It's ok. I've seen worse", I replied.
"Really? So this is easy for you?"
"I'd say medium."

I chopped the first quarter of the bramble field and started packing it into quite flimsy bags Ms S had. Ms S helped me. She didn't have gloves, and I didn't know I should have brought my bramble gloves, so a few thorns got me. After filling three bags and seeing the progress, Ms S said she'd be happy even if I finished with just half of the area. I made a counteroffer.

"I can chop down all those brambles and rake them into a pile. They will dry out, and another volunteer may come and bag them. And you'd have time to get more sturdy bags. What would you say?"

Ms S agreed. I proceeded with the bramble massacre, and she stood at the side with her umbrella. I felt sorry for her. Because of the covert nature of the mission, she couldn't go inside the house and be cosy. She had a condition that made her tired after standing for too long, so she had to go and take breaks while I chopped. After she disappeared for a longer time, she brought me pain au chocolat. It was a lovely gesture, and didn't want to disappoint her, so I took it. Ms S was very patient and determined to help her sister, even if Mrs G was not in the mood to appreciate it that day.

After I was done with the job, I walked with grateful Ms S towards Balham tube station and I explained the topic of the brambles: how they are called, how invasive they are and how likely it was that they would come back if the roots are not dug out. Ms S jumped on the Northern line, and I found a lunch place to rest, then ran back across the river towards Earls Court to catch the District line to get me in time for my next task.