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Thank God. The last day pretty much summed up the whole three hellish weeks:


Drive 7 km.


Job 1 – Chriopractor’s car park. Pruned a bush with hand shears, took 15 minutes. End of gardening for the day. Blew leaves into corner and bagged. Blower is basically a spout and a handle on a throaty petrol pump. Kicks like a mule and weighs a ton. After half an hour I needed the chirpractor. Rod sprayed poison.


Drive 17 km


Job 2 – Mow lawns in crap rental property. Their dog has diarrhea; mowed shit and stood in some. Oh dear.


Drive 7 km


Job 3 – vacuumed a posh car park and dock side (!). End up with a posture like Quasimodo’s. Rod sprayed poison.


Drive 4 km.


Job 4 – mow really crap rental property lawn. Got spattered with dog shit when whipper snipping long grass. I lost my temper, whoops. I hadn’t realised it was possible to go beyond livid and actually become rabid. It was quite fun, frothing at the mouth for a bit. Then it turned off like a tap. I had to apologise to Rod, not that I’d abused him, but I don’t think I was much fun to be around for ten minutes. He took it calmly and told me “It happens”…getting spattered with dog shit.


Drive 1km


Job 5 – mow moderately crap rental property lawn. Rod phones his wife to tell her I got spattered in dog shit. Not in a nasty way, but sort of “welcome to the club” type way.


Drive 5 km and go home.


Well what a fulfilling and useful period of work that was. I can’t complain though, I can afford to quit. It occurred to me as I was vacuuming the car park that as much as I loath the work, I am complicit in it happening. After all, I like a nice clean and tidy environment as much as the next person. And I don’t want to pay much for it either. Bring on fluorescent jackets, petrol and cheap labour.


All hail the economy.