The dogs find his mowing the front particularly exciting – only his head can be seen above the deck as he zooms back and forth; from their vantage point in the living room, they woof hysterically at the disembodied phenomenon of their beloved master.

It’s very noisy, and I frequently frowned as I tried to concentrate on quieter tasks.

Now I would give anything for that sound, as the Moth repines in hospital and I watch the grass grow.

I wasn’t game to tackle the ride-on; the Moth refers to it as the lemon, and spends as long underneath it replacing blades or going up and down to the mower repair shop as he does actually cutting the grass.

We always know when he has finished, because the lemon gives an enormous backfire before the engine dies. Visitors with nervous dispositions have been known to spill their tea when this happens.

Instead, I asked one of my sons to test the Moth’s collection of pushalongs; the Moth can’t resist a second-hand lawn mower, and his collection of two strokes, four strokes, mowers that propel themselves and electric models could form the basis of a mower museum.

He was in the shed a long time. When he came out, he said “The green one seems to work.”

As it is about 30 years since I had anything to do with a lawnmower, I asked him to give me a crash course in how to start it, how much choke to use and what fuel was required. I wrote the information down because I no longer trust my memory, and my mechanical skills are limited, but it all seemed easy enough.

My son roared around on the ride-on before he left, but soon the weeds and grass were growing again.

I told myself that there couldn’t be that much to it, strode out to the green mower, checked the fuel, adjusted the choke, and pulled the cord.

Nothing happened.

I tried the choke in a couple of different positions; still no luck. My arm was sore from pulling the cord, and I hadn’t mowed so much as a dandelion.

During one of my daily phone calls to the Moth, I asked him what the problem might be.

“The green mower, you say?” he replied, thoughtfully. “That one doesn’t like starting on the grass. Try it on concrete.”

I did so, and the mower gave a cough, and came to life.

I was so startled that I almost ran with it onto the grass, and mowed some crazy figures of eight on the back garden before the engine died again. In my excitement, I had forgotten to adjust the choke. Back to the concrete, mower restarted, choke adjusted, and off we went.

A pushalong mower may have a motor, but it still requires a certain amount of muscle power to keep it going in the right direction. As I wrestled it around the orange trees I rediscovered muscles that I’d forgotten I’d got. I also nearly ended Thistle’s life as I hurtled headlong into the grapevine, one of his favourite sleeping spots.

I regained control of the mower and instilled method in my mowing. I won’t say that that first attempt was altogether successful; the back garden looked a bit like a head of hair after someone has had their first attempt with a home barber kit.

Certain patches looked quite dramatically shorn, while tufts of grass and weed stuck up like islands.   

But I had completed half an hour; my arms and legs trembled with the effort, so I thought it was time to stop.

I reported proudly to the Moth that I had got the hang of the mower,, and would now mow for half an hour a day, in the cool of the evening.

The mower and I were happily fulfilling this prediction the next evening when it stopped dead mid-row, and couldn’t be restarted, on concrete or otherwise.

Again, I consulted the Moth.

“Did you put petrol in?” he asked. I was offended. Of course I had. “It could be the spark plug cover,” he said. “It sometimes comes off if you run into tough weeds. Just see if you can see a loose cord dangling on the front, and put it back on the spark plug.”

I had no idea either what the spark plug or its cover looked like, but investigated, and did indeed find a loose cord and something that it fitted over; off we went again.

Bit by bit, I am rediscovering the lost art of mowing the lawn.