Differences in opinion stories from the garden |
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| By David Rowtree-11606 | ||||
Every time we pass a gardening centre, without fail my wife will want to pull over to have a look. I know that sometimes she denies it but I can see that familiar expression etching itself into her face as we trundle past, her eyes clouding over as she imagines the possibilities of the gems inside, lying in wait to be bought and given a loving home. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Usually I can’t be persuaded past the car park. It’s not that I am an impatient man, far from it! In actual fact I have sat for blooming ages staring at glass houses full of leaves and sheds advertising deals on begonias and petunias. I would go in with her you see but on entering such establishments my wife inexplicably exits the real world and transcends into another one that I like to call, ‘la la land.’ Imagine the final ping that a microwave gives out to signal it has finished re-heating your food, it’s just like flicking a switch and she’s gone, lost to the world. All I know about gardening is how to rake the lawn to get rid of the leaves and how to hang up flower baskets in the correct positions i.e. not upside down. All I have to do is run the sprinkler occasionally in the summer, push the lawn mower up and down the lawn a few times every now and again, hose the driveway and throw out grass cuttings. I am not supposed to throw away the grass cuttings because Iris likes to compost them but I forget most of the time and they usually go right into the bin. I don’t think she ever notices though. Sometimes I even catch her talking to the plants when she thinks that I am not looking. I will be on my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and there she will be, sat in the conservatory asking chrysanthemum how he is feeling this afternoon and stroking his little yellow leaves. She never strokes my leaves like that. Mrs Iris Smith I admit that it’s true I am passionate about my plants. I don’t think that I am one of those ‘extreme’ gardeners but surely there is nothing wrong with enjoying the nurturing of another living thing is there? I didn’t think so, especially not if it looks pretty in your garden once you have finished. I have always been one for aesthetics myself, I know John isn’t your typical tool belt, garden shed man but I would appreciate it if just for once he would get off his side and give me some help with the heavier garden tools. It doesn’t seem fair that I do all the real hard work when all John does is mow the lawn once in a blue moon. Even when he does do that he always manages to chuck the grass trimmings in the garbage. He thinks I don’t notice but I just can’t be bothered to keep reminding him every time. He doesn’t listen to a thing I say anyway, a complete cloth ears I swear. I have actually started to talk to the plants because they’re more attentive. Sometimes I wait till I know he can see me, hoping he will get the hint but it hasn’t worked. I do get quite frustrated in the summer when I am on my hands and knees in the soil trimming the borders or tinkering with my garden tools whilst John sits on the sun lounger with the hosepipe in his hand ‘cleaning’ the drive. I am going to make a better attempt to introduce John to the joys of gardening. He has been spending rather a lot of time on the internet recently so I have sneakily set his home page to the gardening section on blackanddecker.co.uk to stimulate his imagination. Maybe a few garden power tools will get him going? Not exactly subtle I know but it’s my last hope. My mum always told me I should have married a man who was good in the garden. ‘A man who knows how to look after his plants,’ she told me ‘knows how to look after his woman.’ |
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