Spring has sprung and the grass is definitely riz. The birdy is round and about but not necessarily on the wing, which would be absurd in any case. Ask any one.
Here you can see my fifteen minute walk took me no farther than the end of the garden. Repeatedly. The grass was riz and could no longer be ignored. Of course the lawnmower played hard to get. I took it to pieces, changed the oil, cleaned the spark plug and called it names.
A quick Ecosia search (in place of Google; they plant trees instead of mining your data, or so they say) and with some good advice about stale petrol I nipped down to the local station for some fresh unleaded. I emptied the mower’s reservoir of the offending, off-fuel and put the fresh petrol in. It started instantly and to my delight I was able to spend the next two hours trudging behind the damn thing picking up toys and stalling in the tall grass.
For those nonplussed by the Spring reference it is a piece of anonymous poetry which was repeated to me each Spring for years by Dad. It is now impossible to see Spring sprung without it. Here it is as I remember it:
“Spring is sprung, the grass is riz,
I wonder where the birdie is?
The bird is on the wing.
But that’s absurd!
The wing is always on the bird.”