Keep Off The Grass – Adventures Of Alan
I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot on real, actual grass. In Wilkos, I rubbed my cheek against some astro turf last time I was in there but it wasn’t the same.
I don’t have a garden. I’ve got a small paved area fully occupied by that crazy beautiful vine thing I wrote about in a previous Adventure. But I can’t go out there because it’s going to strangle me to death one of these days, I know it. I’m not surviving Coronavirus only to walk out the back of my own house and find myself killed by a plant.
But grass? I haven’t touched grass for a long time.
I think the next time I take a walk in the park I think there’s a real possibility I might approach the grass like a former experimental chimpanzee on its first day ever out of the lab.
Tentative at first. Confused, wary even. Why is the ground so spikey? Then I touch it with the back of my hand, breathe in that crisp, soily scent and experience a sudden innate realisation that as biological constructs I am connected to it. I’ll rip off my shoes and go absolutely berserk. Like an unleashed Labrador confronted with a massive mountain of leaves in the Autumn time, I’ll go flying into it.
I’ll run up to people enjoying picnics or bike rides and ask excitedly:
“Have you seen the floor?! It’s only bloody grass!”
Slightly tangential question:
During lockdown, do you think people who keep terrariums have looked at them and thought:
“If I could just shrink myself like Rick Moranis in that film, I could go for a nice walk in a pebbled forest. If I could just find a way to become a Borrower…”?
Anyway, back to the grass. I think my first proper outing post-lockdown is going to be to a neighbour’s garden. Nothing fancy. You’ve got to ease yourself back into these things. I’m just going to turn up at their house, maybe with a nice fruit basket, knock on the door and make some grass touching enquires.
“Excuse me sir, I live just down the way and I couldn’t help but admire that delightful lawn you’ve got growing out there and I wondering if I might just have a quick feel. Oh, by the way, this fruit is for you…”
Note: these are NOT euphemisms.
Written by Alan Hancock