The lawn is still green, you'll be glad to hear. This is the lawn I created by the sweat of my brow and the blisters of my hands a couple of weeks ago, transforming the desolate landscape of my front garden into a lush and verdant meadow. If a cow was to be spotted grazing contentedly, it would not look out of place. It would find it difficult to move around much, to tell the truth: a couple of steps forwards and a couple backwards; maybe actually turn around, if it put its mind to it. And there probably wouldn't be much lawn left, after a few grazes. Probably not the ideal place to rear a cow, to be honest, what with the passing traffic, and the bins being collected on Wednesdays, and the lack of any cattle grids in the immediate vicinity. But it's a charming thought, nevertheless.
The lawn is frankly too small for any practical use. It is barbecue weather at the moment, with sunny skies overhead and burgers and briquettes filling the supermarket shelves. In truth, a barbecue would just about fit on the lawn, particularly one of those disposable ones, the ones the size of a biscuit tin, but filled with inflammable material, not biscuits; but if you wanted a couple of chairs to sit down on, and a few lawn games, even something relatively modest such as quoits, it would get a little cramped. And if you insisted on keeping the cow, it would be chaos.
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