Goliath Undefeated ...

This is the most entertaining thread I have been following for a while

With all my empathy to @LawnAndOrder and the actual struggle with the problem, I hope the story doesn't fall flat with "then I popped into Wilkos, bought a Bamboo root vanisher (£1.99 on sale) and woosh- it's all gone and replaced with bedding Lobelias and Marigolds"

If everything else fails, perhaps it's worth considering to erect a sign and declare the site as a memorial of something suitable. Ancient Greeks must have hoards of places struck down by Gods and petrified for eternities to come. (North Tyneside Council is doing just that with their cheerful "biodiversity area" signs, decorated with cute bumblebees and butterflies, erected on areas that are beyond hope.) Norse gods are pretty good in that sort of things too.

Good luck, please do keep us updated!

 

Forget the axe and hire a mini digger for half a day. That's how mine was taken out. Unless of course you're still enjoying the challenge?

 

Be careful as the bamboo roots can be quite springy and the axe can bounce off without really cutting the bamboo root.

 

I am really sorry your wife has not made you that cake. How long have you been married? Are you still on your honeymoon?

Anyway, I have baked one for you (below); it’s not the one I gave you the recipe for but, believe me, this is the cake to end all cakes (we were given the recipe at the Café Central in Vienna (below below) – if it’s any consolation, I was the one who ended up making it. Plus ça change!)

 

Why all this self-inflicted agony? Never mind a mini-digger, hire a JCB! One of the very few useful things my OH accomplished with ours before I persuaded him to sell it and buy a potato-lifter, was to eradicate a supposedly 'compact' bamboo that was in the direct line of moisture from my gravity-induced, trickle watering system. Boy did it thrive/spread (the bamboo, not the JCB) Even now, there must be a couple of centimetres of root left in the ground and the blasted thing re-sprouts every year. Bon courage!

 

Can you treat it like a tree stump? Perhaps drll large holes down into it and fill with either roundup or petrol.

 

I think the use of petrol here may well be illegal @CanadianLori and it will also poison the soil for some while.

 

Because it feels good when you reach the end.

 

Yes but you reach the end much more quickly with mechanical help and avoid ending up in A&E with a hernia, slipped disc etc etc

 

Yes. It’s compulsive. This is how we get bamboozled in our formative years; if, for instance you were to believe Scheherazade (and who wouldn’t?), you’d think that all this digging I’m doing would lead to a mysterious underground chamber crammed with pots filled with overflowing gold, or displaying on diamond pedestals the most beautiful women one has ever seen. Here, nothing, not even base lead, just roots, more roots, and the devil’s tendrils. The challenge, however, is delicious — like a tooth one loves to ache — plus, as my wife suggests, It’ll make a man of me; I don’t know what I was before but I can tell you, I now identify as a terminator!

Merci. I see you are fluent in French. So, here is a little something for you, relevant to the essence of this thread, where you might say Scheherazade passes the bâton to La Fontaine:

Travaillez, prenez de la peine :
C'est le fonds qui manque le moins.
Un riche Laboureur, sentant sa mort prochaine,
Fit venir ses enfants, leur parla sans témoins.
Gardez-vous, leur dit-il, de vendre l'héritage
Que nous ont laissé nos parents.
Un trésor est caché dedans.
Je ne sais pas l'endroit ; mais un peu de courage
Vous le fera trouver, vous en viendrez à bout.
Remuez votre champ dès qu'on aura fait l'Août.
Creusez, fouillez, bêchez ; ne laissez nulle place
Où la main ne passe et repasse.
Le père mort, les fils vous retournent le champ
Deçà, delà, partout ; si bien qu'au bout de l'an
Il en rapporta davantage.
D'argent, point de caché. Mais le père fut sage
De leur montrer avant sa mort
Que le travail est un trésor.

 

Crafty! Reminds me of the story about an elderly Marseillais who was struggling to cope with his veggie garden, as his only son was serving a prison sentence and could no longer help him. During the weekly visit to the prison, he was reassured by his son, who told his father that he might have a solution, and to bear with him. The elderly gentleman was astonished and alarmed to see his property swarming with gendarmes the following day! They were armed with spades, forks and picks and proceeded to dig meticulously over the entire garden. They never did find the stash of loot, though

 

Reminds me of the time about 10 years ago when I asked a female colleague out and she replied "No I only go out with real men".
Sometimes you can really misjudge people.

 

The council replaced the main gas pipes in our street some 10 years ago. When the workers reached our house they apologised that they will have to dig up quite a lot of our garden and asked where the pipe runs.

It all started quite well but the lads grew slightly suspicious when I explained the locations of the various pipes I was certain were running under the veg patch and in the tatty corner full of nettles and conifer roots.