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I remember one summer evening, sitting under a cloud of midges, weeding out couch grass until it was too dark to see.

Already clumps of couch grass are beginning to thrust up.

He had red hair, planted in his head like couch grass, and on his nose he wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

Those lovely eyes! ’tis the sun blazing on me, making the madness of love spring up higher than couch grass in a deserted garden.”

I remember the horrent couch grass that waved its ragged tresses above me, and how I told myself that the range of the sand dunes were great lions with bristling manes marching along to Exmouth.