Let me proclaim at once that it is unlikely to be my own efforts that have given offence. I have a small wilderness for a garden; laziness and an aversion to regimentation, even of plants, keep it so. Furthermore, I abhor noise.
So it is not guilt, or any want of sympathy, that lead me to suggest that the council might be unwise to issue reminders about the considerate behaviour it hopes to meet in the village. Good manners and consideration for others has become, alas, a dangerously political topic. On the one hand, if one does not spell out what is good behaviour and what is bad, there will always be folk who do not know, either because nobody has ever told them or because they lack imagination. On the other hand, where does advice of this kind stop? It is impossible to itemize all those things that people should or should not do; and who has the moral authority to play nanny? The sages of the ancient world were unanimous on the point that virtue can only be instilled by example, not by exhortation.
In any case, the roar of the mower, the rumble of the A27 and the whine of microlites and cropsprayers at the weekend are drowned out by something much, much worse: the coarse, hectoring, bullying oaths of adults oikifying children at their football, teaching them that enjoyment is impossible without shrieking their lungs out. The poor kids squeak and pipe with might and main to please their mentors, but cause little disturbance. Children enjoying themselves are not the burden on the ear; it is the violent imprecations of adults, parents or coaches, which offend the weekend peace, and make me shut my windows. Evidently our state religion of football excludes any consideration so trivial as the peace of others.
Ban mowers at weekends and bonfires at leaf-fall? I have no objection, beyond pointing out the dangers to the council of trying to preach. We all have our likes and dislikes. Now you know a little of what mine are.