It sounds like summer

It’s sunny. The jasmine is perfuming the air. The back door is wide open. You put the morning paper down and look out. It’s time. Pulling the old push mower from its winter corner, you give it a few drops of Singer Sewing Machine Oil, put on your hat and stand by to take part in the grand Neighbourhood Summer Concert.*

*BTW that’s not me doing the mowing in the photo above. It’s my friend Martin. I asked him to pose for the photo. He’s actually not a gardener. More the outback type.

Yes. We neighbours who perform in this event know each other well, though we’ve never met. We’re an egalitarian troupe. Anyone can join – and does. Our performance can be caught just about any summer weekend. Held outdoors, no tickets needed, enjoyed by every family within half a kilometre.

Starting us off with a flourish is Mr Leaf Blower. He can be relied on to provide an explosive and rousing overture. 

His lengthy fortissimo is backed by the Kiddies in the Pool Chorus. Their shrill little voices provide a delightful crescendo, performed against a background of plashing water music.

Missing right now is our bass. Where is Mr Wheeler Dealer? Ah. Here he is. Right on time, his vibrant and powerful voice projection carries his solo boomingly from the balcony where he finds best reception for his mobile.

Several performers join us regularly. The click-click, click-click, click-click of Mr Tidy’s pruning shears keeps our tempo moving as briskly as a metronome and dear old Deaf Lady adds the haunting counterpoint of daytime TV through her open window.

The Dog Owners Chorus starts warming up about now. We all look forward to that moment. The full throated voices of their many charges provide a lovely medley of contrasting tones. We know better than to wait for the trumpet fanfare of Mr Lamborghini. He prefers to join us in the clear night air of 2 a.m. when his car alarm can reach its full potential.

There are occasional guest spots. Young Guy with a Motorcycle likes to add a burst of lively staccatos while Mrs Wind Chimes inserts a gentle, if persistent, percussion, best in a stiff westerly. And of course the Party Givers often favour us with a thumping doof doof doof as they test their mics for the night’s gathering.

Finally it’s our turn to take the stage. After a false start due to some unexpected rust removal, my mower and I enter together from the wings. Swish, swish. Push, pull.  Swish, swish. Push, pull. Listen to our gently rendered pianissimo melody. Swish, swish. Push, pull. Swish, swish. Push, pull. I like to think we provide a dash of political correctness to our motley troupe. Swish, swish.  Push, pull. My stage name is possibly That Old Greenie, and (whisper it) she probably even votes for them!

Swish, swish. Push, pull. “Amazing she can even find the lawn in that jungle of hers,” mutters Mr Tidy clicking faster. “Don’t know who lives there, but just might pop a card in their letterbox,” decides Local Mower Man doing a roaring job. “Dad. Dad. Don’t worry. I’ll do it,” dreams Grandpa down the street dozing in the sun.

Swish, swish. Push, pull. Summer in our neighbourhood is just one long musical comedy.

December 2017