Needing the back lawn mowing prior to this afternoons predicted rain, GJ Strachan’s been delayed an hour or so in commencing this journal. My sardonic notions put on pause whilst grass blades were manicured to within an inch of their weeds, which’ve once again overtaken the area of green land scores of earthworms call home.

Quite clearly, I’m not in possession of exact numbers of terrestrial invertebrates which reside under the 30ft x 20ft green area of the back garden, however, I’d say scores, as opposed to hundreds, represents a decent arbitrary estimate.

I could undertake research on google for a more informed number, but knowing if there were just six or forty million Opisthoporas under the lawn won’t augment the narrative. Consequently, forgive me if I don’t wander that valueless path…… Quite literally, that’s not a can of worms I’m prepared to open.

Anyhow, as you’ve probably guessed from the fact I’m now penning these locutions, the grass blades are trimmed and its cuttings have joined a congregation of buddleja, clematis and hawthorn bush cuttings in the garden rubbish bin.

This horticultural throng no doubt ruing that, within the previous 24 hours, they’ve been detached from their roots, rendering them moribund.. I guess you could suggest, the grass going from circumstances of literally to figuratively ‘pushing up the daisies’.

Consequential of hour long horticulture maintenance, my immediate landscape is a significantly tidier canvas than sixty minutes (plus 250 narrative words) ago. The neat lawn, in association with foreground bedding plants and shrubs, providing an aesthetically-pleasing mural to accompany today’s chronicling. The achromatic scene and prevailing serene meteorology providing a beautiful calm before this afternoons forecast storm.

A gentle breeze currently enters through an open French door leading out to the back patio or into the house dependent on the direction you take. This cooling summer zephyr negating against the overbearing humidity experienced of late.

As I speak, that prevailing tranquility has been dented by a young kid a few houses away. The boy shouting what sounds like “Wheat!” at the top of his voice to his little buddies. Yours truly doubts the word being exclaimed with some gusto by the young fella is that of the cereal seed provider, but I’m unable to verify that assumption at the time of writing.

Until I procure that detail in certainty, I don’t want to discard that possibility out of hand. After all, its almost two decades since my own kids were the age this lad sounds. Subsequently, I not primary school ‘street’ enough to make informed judgements on what’s en vogue with regard junior patois.

Wheat maybe some new exclamation for a brio enhancing act previously labelled by that age group as ‘sick’, or the equally baffling ‘wicked’. A change in the urban dictionary which’d result in a parent asking:-“`Do you like your new Playstation Game ‘COVID Mission 3, Archie?” An enquiry the offspring would respond to utilising the new kids word on the street for cool, “Yes, dad!!……. It’s wheat!!

Like use of the locutions sick and wicked, though, the use of wheat to display happiness is fraught with potentially confusing interactions between kids and parents. For example, an 8 year old child informing the new breakfast cereal they’d started buying was absolutely wheat, potentially baffling their forebears.

Even with a fertile creative mind, I’m struggling to evoke a feasible epiphany explaining the catalyst to this youngster earlier yelling “Wheat!” with such admirable voice projection. The only weak notions I’ve thus far mustered is that he and his friends are endeavouring to create anagrams from the word weather; or maybe playing the board game ‘A Question of Cereal Ingredients”.