He thinks for a moment, eyeing the broom I'm holding.
"Can I have a go with that?" he asks.
"I like weeding," he says.
Ten minutes later and I've taken several blows from said broom. Both cars have also taken a hit.
"Weeding's great," he says.
The great comes out g-r-r-r-r-r-eat!
Think the Frosties Tiger.
It's something he's trying out. Last week, everything was cool. Later, post-weeding, we go to the playground, the basket swing the highlight.
"That's fantastic!" he says.
Back to the weeding, we get into a pattern. I remove weeds, he sweeps them up and puts them in the bucket. Our next-door neighbour stops to check our progress.
"Weeding's great," he tells her, all proud, brandishing his broom, requiring her to take evasive action. The B and the broom are a dangerous combination.
The G comes to see what we're doing.
"Weeding's great," The B tells her.
I ask if she'd like to help.
"I don't," she says, her standard response to most questions at the minute.
The G cannot be fooled quite the same as The B. The G requires proper entertainment, chores just don't cut it.
I suspect we'll have to find something good to do this week.
It might be great, but the magic of weeding can only do so much.