Oh, I like a bit of self-scything, literal or metaphorical.
And I 
Andrew Marvell.
While thus he threw his elbow round,
Depopulating all the ground,
And, with his whistling scythe, does cut
Each stroke between the earth and root,
The edgèd steel by careless chance
Did into his own ankle glance;
And there among the grass fell down,
By his own scythe, the Mower mown.
Marvell had never watched scything up close, one fears. You might well cut off your neighbour’s foot, but it would be very hard to cut off your own.
Friend Damon might have been afflicted with hypermobility of the elbow in addition to lerve and heatstroke.
Don’t spoil it for me : (
Considering the number of deaths during the nineteenth century said to have been caused by the deceased having cut himself with a scythe, followed by blood-poisoning, it must have been possible.
Toasted sandwiches wiv cheese & ham as a late lunch here, if anyone would like some
Carinthia.xx
Yay! May we do Experiments? What do you mean, ‘handing out scythes at random is probably illegal’?
Nanny State run mad, thass wottit is. Mollycoddling.
We already have one, so we’re ok. Not sure whether lending it to you would be legally acceptable, though.
We have one too
I foresee a duel with scythes!
You couldn’t bring it on public transport, and I think you would need to have taken measures to make the cutty bit temporarily unusable were you to transport it by car. Plod can be surprisingly picky about that sort of thing.
The blade is detachable, I think. Hedgers? (The name is appropriate here.)
It is indeed (and I have a smaller one for tight spaces, that goes on the same handle).
I suspect the cutting-self-with-scythe is more likely to happen not while you’re using it but while you’re carrying it to where you’re going to use it. These days they come wiv an red plastic thingy that fits along the blade while you’re not cutting.
[alert and interested pricking up of the ear]
Interesting, very. One might go so far as to say promising…
Aaaah Gus I speak fluent Plod so can easily get the scythe to the duel site…
Next time you come over here you can have a go.
Twellsy: I’ll give you a traditional English scythe duel. Stand back to back with scythes ready; at the word, take ten paces forward to the beer table, lay down the scythe, pick up the tankard…
That’s my type of duel wee birdie
Marvell was one of the great discoveries from my A Level days - along with Our Mutual Friend and Doctor Faustus (which reminds me I have a DVD of the Globe production of Faustus that I’ve yet to watch…)
“…and I’m sticking to that story!”
Now that shows foolhardiness courage of a high order.
I managed to miss the Marvell module in my degree. Well, the metaphysical poets generally, but I shall always regret not having studied him and Donne in depth, only in the Introduction to Poetry module.
I am still of the opinion that a green thought in a green shade is one of the finest moments in all of English poetry, though there are many candidates for the position. For bathos, for example, who can beat Wordsworth’s opening line, “Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands”?
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons as I pass,
Ensnar’d with flow’rs, I fall on grass.
I want one day to plant a curious peach… I do have an apricot in the back garden, covered at present with blossom; it’s taller than me now, and was about a foot high when I put it there.
Yes, please, Carinthia. I think the rest of them have quite put themselves off with bloodthirsty talk. Mr Bee’s Dad used to wield a skillfull scythe without self-harm. One of Mam’s cousins (a forester) managed to cut off all of the toes of one foot and knew nothing about it until he looked down…
Soo xx