The man on the radio is back having slept off his late night shenanigans and is busy reading poetry dedicated to the traffic lady. The traffic lady is delighted. Time for a bit of Labi Siffre he says ... 'Watch me when you call my name ... See me sparkle, see me flame.' Another Bank Holiday and more of the usual wet weather. The chef on the radio is in and it's chicken recipes all the way with chorizo rice and artichokes.
Coffee in hand, leaning against the door frame looking at the Primulas. Amazing plants. They've survived every low temperature that's been thrown at them. I like them a lot, they thrive even with a neglectful 'gardener' like myself.
I'm lousy at remembering to water things. Years back, a friend asked me to house sit and 'would I please remember to water the azalea in her lounge.' I was there 2 weeks, and assured her her plant would be well looked after. I read the large yellow Post It Note that said 'please water plant' every day of my stay and said to myself 'I'll do that now.'
I didn't.
Permanently distracted me only looked at the plant the day before she came home. I say plant ... more of a stick by that point, surrounded by dead leaf confetti. Needless to say, I replaced it. Took home the demised azalea and added it's remains to my compost. Smiled to myself when my friend rang and said her beloved plant had never looked so well, and that I must have green fingers.
The irony of me rescuing half dead plants from my local garden centre is not lost on me. From the frying pan into the fire one might say. Just aswell the precipitation Gods of the Emerald Isle keep an eye on my purchases ... and I doubt they'll need a Post It Note reminder ... but maybe I'll leave one out for them ... just in case ...
