WHY do grass-cutting freaks only operate their infernal machines at the weekend? Why is the Queen's peace invariably destroyed on Sunday afternoon by a thoughtless oaf traipsing about on a green sward of waste land?

Sunday afternoon should be sacrosanct, reserved for those who are replete with food and drink, emitting the sounds of civilised contentment. But no, here comes the mindless cutter of animal provender, stomping about with his brain in neutral and his bronzed hands directing a noisy contraption that he should be forced to wear as a birthmark around his neck.

In the old days they had corrective measures for the public nuisance. The village stocks and the ducking stool provided a suitable deterrent for the twerp who insisted on invading our space and time.

Let us now go forth into a new era of peace and quiet and banish all weekend grass-cutters to the status of undesirable aliens.

Robert Holmes,

Thorganby, York.