So much of what winds up as what’s currently known as ‘content’ on these pages is couched in terms of obsession and the unintended consequences of fossicking around in rabbit holes. Let’s not take this opportunity to delve into that particular issue, which would just get a bit too meta for a Sunday. Suffice to say, these tales go to show that when you grasp on a thread and pull, you should be ready for the whole damn garment to unravel.

Recently an excellent example of the principle of unintended consequences reared its head right here.  But first, let’s take a brief wander down memory’s rosy path. I think it’s now well established that the garden at Corner Cottage suffered greatly during the period of occupation by tenants – engineers at the nearby gold mine – and then from a terrible drought.

These shocks to the our little patch of the planet triggered an invasion by a multifarious diversity of weeds, taking advantage of the more refined flora’s struggles, which has recently been aided and abetted by ample soaking rain. The result is a blossoming, an absolute burgeoning, of vigorous and unrepentant weedlife.

Increasingly we’ve been feeling like we’re living in a jungle, and it became obvious that something should be done. “Something should be done,” we told each other. The Spitfire sat malignantly waiting. Since it was fixed and fettled, it has been possible to start – if you have the bodily strength and stamina to tug on the starter cable a few hundred times. And sometimes despite this exertion, it remained defiantly dormant.

It is well understood in the advertising industry that consumers such as ourselves are capable of creating plausible justifications for just about any purchase. I say this because it’s clear and logical that we really, really needed a new lawnmower. The rapidly-encroaching weeds, the recalcitrant Spitfire – these are inconveniences. But let’s consider the planet, OK? How is it good for the country – indeed the globe’s – ambition to reach the Paris Agreement target of a global temperature rise this century well below 2 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels by 2050 if we persist in using a carbon-spewing, particulate-belching two-stroke lawnmower? It’s immoral, really, if you think about it.

We clearly needed to go electric. And handily, a dealership for these green machines sits just opposite the Albion. It was the work of mere minutes to allow the salesman to make his case. As Hitler said when invading Russia, one kick and the whole rotten edifice of our resistance came crashing down. It all made so much sense. And the mower is orange, a good colour for green tools. So, you know – the deal was done.

Our new toy has been a revelation. It’s a dream to use – no shoulder-dislocating, sweat-inducing, curse-eliciting labour: you just flick a switch and hummingly glide across the undergrowth, which, once tamed, looks a lot more like a lawn. Yes, there were hitches: Archie’s purple ball, lurking in the brambles, suffered an ignominious fate, but that’s a small price to pay — although Archie’s opinion on the matter can’t be sought, genius though he is.

Which roundabout tale brings us to unintended consequences. Not ours, either. All the mowing and weeding mentioned thus far have focused on Corner Cottage’s larger, main bit of garden. But there’s a narrow strip at the bottom, beyond a small terrace or ha-ha, which is bounded by a fence and fruit trees. And this has been overtaken – pretty much overrun – by weeds. Big, flourishing, flamboyant and unconstrained weeds. And chief among them are the thrusting purple peaks of what’s known as Paterson’s (or Patterson’s) Curse (echium plantagineum).

Now how’s this for a runaway series of events that couldn’t have been foreseen? Apparently, Paterson’s curse gets its name from Jane Paterson who in the 1880s brought the seeds of the weed from Europe because she thought they’d look pretty in her garden. Others say it goes back to 1840s mail-order gardening catalogues, while others reckon it made its way here unintentionally in livestock fodder.

Whatever, it was officially declared a weed in 1900 and is now considered an invasive species of the most persistent nature. Because it can germinate at any time of year and its seeds can last five years in the soil, it responds rapidly to droughts or being mown, taking advantage of the situation to get growing with renewed vigour. It can kill horses who eat it and cause weight loss and even death in cattle.

And Corner Cottage has a thriving crop of this stuff which, due to its prolific and opportunistic nature, is not helping country-wide efforts to eradicate the pest. Mrs Paterson would be horrified to learn that it’s now a major blight in most of the east and south of the country. You can see whole hillsides sporting an attractive coat of mauve, which nefariously chokes out all other herbage.

From all this it’s clear that to do our duty by the environment and by the very future of our endangered planet, a trip to the tool dealer is urgently required – we need an electric whippersnipper (or strimmer some may call it) and we need it stat.