Zen and the Art of Pressure Washing

So I recently had to clean a relatively large surface (astro turf) with a focused high pressure water cannon.  The beam was focused enough that agonising slivers of green were revealed during every sweep, while the ruddy mottled brown, no matter how hard you try, laughs back.

Being notoriously lazy, a plan was sought to minimise effort.  This plan involved a detailed grey matter image of the surface, contours, and eventual route; considering environmental factors and footprints.  Once the map had been set, following myriad rules such as:  Generally moving from the top of the slope to the bottom, working in three parallel blocks (each sub-divided by two further blocks), moving no more than fifty centimetres forward at a time (on each block), and moving as much detritus (for the cleaner picks up many billions of microscopic particles, congealing them into a macroscopic ooze) to the sides as possible.

These rules generally applied, but were legitimately broken if problems, considering such factors as wind direction, footprints and astro fibre density were found.

While millimetres were cleaned with every sweep, time was taken to contemplate the route - but even this only takes a finite amount of time, considering the task seemed to offer infinite opportunity for inexhaustible fun (the seasons bring further coverings of rain, sand, mud and snow.  Each sweep would appear to take five years to complete, lending the surface to continual cleaning, non-stop, all year round) I had to occupy spare grey cell computational cycles.  Therein lies the zen methodology.  Plan your pebble garden (or cleaning duty) around a simple and convenient pre-meditated (sic) plan, and follow it, being as detached as possible.  The mind goes blank, and one awakes to find the work either complete, or someone firing paintballs at him.  Either way, some amount of time has passed, and the world is a little cleaner/aesthetically pleasing.