7th August 2019
I noticed that one of the flowers I had planted was looking a bit limp. Now considering it cost me ten quid, it was not going to die on my watch. I could hear what my friend Rob would have said, and I didn’t want the guilt of my planting incompetence to become known.
I got together all the instruments needed for this life saving operation, and set about the first incision. I removed the root ball and split them into separate strands, then I added some fertiliser inside the hole and replanted the ball into the hole pushing the soil hard into the roots. I then mixed up a solution guaranteed to raise the dead, albeit plants and shrubs. It was an antibiotic steroid for gardens.
I sprinkled this liberally around the stem expected to hear groans and creaks as it developed muscles and grew wildly. Unfortunately none of that happened, but I left it to rest after it’s traumatic experience.
I went to my favourite Wickes store to buy ballast for the bottom step. I bought three bags expecting to return one, but as it
happened all three were gobbled up.
There should be a rule of thumb that you always double the amount you think you need, pretty obvious really. In the same way it will always cost twice as much as you want to spend. That is surly what has happened to me.
I stopped off at my local Co-op to buy some spread and made my way to the till. I joined what appeared to be the queue, only to hear a grunt from someone looking like ZZ top’s dad.
His hair and beard met in the middle with just a gap to stuff the pasty, he was buying, into. I apologised for jumping the queue, he just grunted, his beard rustling like a dried hedge. I took my place behind him, and was curious if he made other sounds, but as he reached the counter he slammed his pasties down without a word, handed over some money and waddled out.
That was a fine example of rural English manhood, incapable of any form of communication.
Another Lifetime to go 