Today I gently jogged my way around the part of the locality where lots of people live in bungalows. I'm not going to generalise and say that all the inhabitants are old or even elderly but let's just say that they don't seem to go to work and they like washing their cars and keeping their gardens tidy. So as I was nosing into the gardens, I wondered if this affliction would catch me up at some point in my future.
I'm not a keen gardener, or car washer come to think of it, in fact my back garden consists of a patio, a small bedded area, a large slated area and lots of pots. Minimal care and attention required, even less if Mr Grumpy gets out there, sadly he can't tell a plant from a weed and only a couple of years ago I found him frantically weeding in the garden bed, moaning that the little blighters were popping up on a daily basis. I pointed out to him that they were in fact the beautiful plants that come back every year and could he now please stop digging.
My father is a very keen gardener and prides himself on his beautiful Dahlias.... gosh, that doesn't sound right does it? He also has an eye for the Hosta... ah, they just keep getting better, so much so, that just for the sheer hell of it I took a picture of one of mine and sent it to the local rag with a cheeky comment, knowing he'd see it. What a wit I am, or maybe I just have too much time on my hands.
Back to my bouncing, in one particular garden I noticed some lovely little flowers that immediately whisked me back to my childhood, the Mesembryanthemum, a small daisy like flower that opens and closes with the sun and heat. I was only about 5 years old when the headmaster of our tiny, village primary school, said that we could each bring in some seeds that we'd like to plant as Mr Bridgefoot, the school gardener and my father's Uncle, had set aside a plot for us. I'm not sure what pleased me more, planting something of my choice or being around Uncle Arthur, I loved the smell of his pipe, something that he would never be allowed to smoke around primary school children today. We planted our seeds and waited patiently for the shoots to appear, imagine my disappointment when mine just looked a load of green stems. Uncle Arthur could see my disappointment and was waiting for me early the next morning, there in the spot where the tangle of green had been were now a mass of pretty colourful daisies!
It was only many years later that I realised it hadn't really been magic created by this lovely old man, but how happy and proud I was that day, and of course wanted to brag to all my other little friends about "MY" Uncle Arthur, how unbearable I must have been.
Well, I may not be the world's greatest gardener but I do know that if I ever end up in one of those bungalows what plants I'll fill the beds with!
amazing to think that when you think about Uncle Arthur you can still smell that pipe.
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