Lawn Mountain

SCENE: A sloped back garden. A battered lawn mower sulks near the shed. A small gnome (Eric) sits on a patio wall, arms folded.

ANDY (stepping outside, squinting):
Lovely day for it.

ERIC (glowering):
Oi! Lazy-arse. The lawn’s a jungle. You mowing it, or starting a nature reserve?

ANDY:
It’s on the list.

ERIC:
You said that last month. I saw a badger walk through here wearing crampons.

ANDY (heading for the shed):
It’s a steep hill, alright? I nearly needed ropes last time.

ERIC:
Should’ve left a note for Mountain Rescue.

ANDY (pulling out mower):
I did, actually.

MOWER (sullen, wheezy):
Oh, now you want me.

ANDY:
Don’t start.

MOWER:
It’s Sunday. I’ve unionised.

RAKE (from shed):
We voted. It’s our day of rest. Sod off.

ANDY (plugging in extension lead):
Right. One lap. That’s all I ask.

ERIC:
One lap? You’re not at bloody Silverstone.

ANDY (starts mower, begins the push):
Here we go…

MOWER (climbing):
Nope.
(coughs dramatically and dies)

ANDY:
Come on, just a little push—

ERIC (heckling):
Give it some welly, lad!

ANDY (straining):
I am!

MOWER:
I refuse. That’s vertical. You want altitude pay, you climb it yourself.

ANDY (collapsing at the top of the slope):
This is ridiculous.

ERIC (picking moss off his boot):
The moss says thank you for not disturbing it.

ANDY (defeated):
Fine. I’ll just tell people we live in a meadow.

ERIC:
Tell ‘em you’re rewilding. It sounds posh.

ANDY:
The lawn’s still growing.

MOWER (from the bottom of the slope):
So’s my resentment.

BLACKOUT.