Crimes Against Technology: The Flymo

From where I'm standing, Karl Dahlman has a lot to answer for. And, for the record, about ten minutes ago I was standing in a yard full of half-cut grass. I had spent the previous hour or so trying to manhandle my hover mower around my pretty un-demanding lawn. Let me say those two words again: Hover. Mower. A flying machine with deathblades attached to the bottom of it that is meant to whizz around the garden like some 25th-century robot, effortlessly allowing me to clip my grass to perfection while sipping my Pimms and enjoying some late afternoon sunshine. That's what it's meant to do. What it actually does do is to engage me in an hour-long struggle, fighting against my lawn and the laws of physics to garner a mangy lawn that looks more like garden alopecia than a putting green. And, to my mind, Karl Dahlman is to blame. 46 years ago, Karl Dahlman invented the Flymo, Britain's #1 lawnmower, and people like me have been cursing his appropriation of hovering deathblade technology ever since.

Don't get me wrong: spinning blades, hovercrafts, lawn mowers in general: all very cool. I'm a big fan of Krull, and strapping a couple of his awesome whirring knives onto the bottom of a hovercraft sounds like a truly magnificent marraige of science fiction and DIY. And, to be fair, combining blades and suction works very well in other industries... like grooming, for instance. Who could malign the Flowbee, back in the day? An amazing product that does exactly what it says it'll do: it cuts your hair and sucks it up. And although the IDEA of a feather-light mower that simply glides over your lawn is really quite inspired, the reality just doesn't live up to the hype.  

Maybe it's me. Maybe I remember too fondly how easy cutting grass with a petrol mower is. Maybe I've been spoiled by its power, consistency, lack of a frickin chord and ability to cut grass longer than an inch in length. But as I look out over my lawn, clumps of uncollected grass mocking my eyes where ever they turn, patches of uncut grass standing defiantly erect giving me the green finger time and time again as I survey the results of my considerable efforts, I think: no. No, it's not me. It's Karl Dahlman and his infernal machine. Damn you, Karl Dahlman. Damn you and the hovercraft you rode in on.