Back door summer days

There's something relaxing about sitting at the back door,  drinking a coffee,  having a read and listening to the labours of suburban grass cutters.

Grass cutting does not relax me,  though. 

I struggle to find the appeal of a prefect lawn.  I suppose it's a bit like a crisply ironed shirt. Tedious to do,  but satisfying to see the end result. But all that effort, all that equipment for something that seems so pointless.  In many back gardens bereft of a goat or a sheep, nothing eats it and there's not much left to hide in it. 
My desire this year is to grow meadow flowers AKA weeds,  to justify not cutting it every week. 
I gave the grass a quick hack, scattered  my second box of seed and will now watch what happens.