Getting old – a quandry of vegetable care

Posted: July 21, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m the sort of chap who has a great idea, tells people about, takes little-to-no action, allows a few years to pass by, and eventually wonders: “why didn’t I do that?”

You might know this sensation.

I wanted a vegetable patch in my garden – to grow my own, beat the system and enjoy fresh air, etc.

My wife and I had a slight disagreement on where such a patch would go – and it proceeded not to happen.

Later, friends told me they were growing their own veg. “How nice” I thought.

Later still, colleagues told me the same. “How nicer” I continued.

My brother then announced he was getting an allotment – the mark of someone who wants to grow vegetables so much that they do it in public.

Lastly, my wife told me she was starting a veg-patch wherever the hell she wanted in our garden.

Suddenly it seemed I was surrounded by home-growers of an idea I’d had years ago, and was feeling somewhat left behind and out of the veg-growing picture.

Other people my age are growing their own, enjoying the process and link to their land, and probably vegetables too.

I’m yet again behind, inspired to have an idea that becomes in-vogue in time, but not inspired enough to take action at the time.

Others are saving money, becoming in tune with the Earth and growing both themselves – and carrots.

What am I going to do? I’m such a loser – I didn’t even grow vegetables when I had the chance and and other people my age have so much going on, especially cabbage, and I really need to get my act together before………………………….oh wait it’s only growing vegetables.

Quite irrelevant really – when you want them to be. Still, I’m getting old.

I’ve had my efforts.

I tried growing a pineapple plant, which struggled until my dog snapped it in half – promptly ending the struggle.

I also grew tomatoes a few years ago – but that’s too easy. It’s like trying to grow a beard – effortless whether you succeed or not.

So, sure enough I do need to begin growing something, to remain a part of the pack – but it needs to have a edge to it. Just so I can feel slightly ahead of the curve for once, like I used to be.

Naturally I turned to sea-monkeys.

In place of the pineapple plant I was growing with my son, tiny crustaceans seemed like the next best bet/pet.

However – it turns out you can’t really rear and eat these minuscule specimens. You can drink them down in one, get a bad tummy ache and rear them back up again – but you can’t enjoy chewing them.

And they’re not very intimate a collection either – individually or as a herd. Carrots are better company.

We did name one though. On the theme of them being sea-faring monkeys, we named him: “Ooh Ooh ARGH!”

I think next I’ll try tomatoes, but grow them where no one would expect – like my brothers allotment. Watered with sea-monkeys.

That’d show them all.

That’d show everyone.

Sam

My favourite flower (which I might also beat-up)

Posted: March 20, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sunflowers.

The same flower that every single child draws when they draw a flower.

The most undeniable of flowers – they shall not be denied.

When a sunflower is put to you (and I can only imagine having a sunflower ‘put to you’ amounts to one being waggled and smushed in your face) – you’ve got no choice but to acknowledge that flower.

It’s not the most floral of flowers, nor the most flowery, but it the most ‘flower’ of flowers. The capo dei capi of flowers.

I love ’em.

I love ’em so much I abbreviate “them“.

I love the fact that a field of ’em wake up, as the sun comes out, and they worship it adoringly as it dawns and sets across the sky.

And then they droop all depressed-like, when the sun is replaced by a grey day.

They emit a lot of differing moods, from glorious, shining pride to “oh no it’s cloudy”.

There’s a lot to love about ’em.

But how would you feel if a sunflower suddenly looked at you?

You’re sitting on a bench in the park one evening, and along comes an enormous sunflower.

It sits next to you.

You decide to be cool about it. It’s just a sunflower, no prejudices from your side, it’s probably a decent flower in its own way.

And then it snaps its head sideways to look right at you.

Staring deep into your soul.

So deep into your soul, that your soul is technically your genitals.

Putting up with that, are you? Or are you going to smash its face is and shove its petals up its rootholes.

Sure, it might be a sunflower and you know it might have its own problems going on, but staring at you to the point of molestation is a step too far, and it still hasn’t broken eye contact.

So you stand, and so does the sunflower. This escalated wordlessly and the pair of you are ready for action.

You wallop it.

And nothing proceeds to happen.

And then nothing proceeds to happen again.

So you give it another go, knuckling the sunflower right between where its eyes would be.

And slowly, a trickle of sunflower oil comes from where its nose would be, and it wipes it away and brandishes its tiny little leafy arms up into little green fists.

It takes a step closer.

And it sunflowers you.

It sunflowers the shit out of you.

No, I don’t know what that means either but going by what I’m feeling, and what you’re probably feeling too, it’s likely to be fairly unpleasant if you suffer from hay fever.

Hay fever that gives you a brain bleed.

There’s only one option.

Your brolly.

Naturally, you’d considered whipping this out earlier, but that was on the basis of battering the sunflower about the stem and petals with it.

Judging by the lack of success punching it had, assault with a brolly won’t weather much better, so that’s out of the question.

What’s in the question though, is photosynthesis. A lot of it.

You unfurl your umbrella and hold it over the sunflower’s head.

A moment of confusion follows, and then surely enough it begins to droop.

Congratulations, you’ve just depressed a flower.

Vincent Van Gogh might have appreciated, as I do, the glory of a sunflower, but we simply got to make sure they know their place and don’t get too big for their pots.

Sunflowers.

I love ’em.

Fuck ’em.

Sam

The News. Interesting, irrelevant or 80 years old.

Posted: January 1, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty., Today's paper. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I am sitting here, trying to remember what articles I read now. Thankfully it was the Daily Star, so there were lots of pictures.

Pictures are good memory joggers, especially as they make words standout in the first place, and the Daily Star nails this, mainly through images of massive interest and zero relevance. Like this one:

Its a beaver. Doesn’t really need the words actually, though I do like the “Hey“.

“Hey” indeed.

The Daily Star might be what we’d hand to the extraterrestrials to give them an idea of what our focus really is, or we’d roll it up to bop them on the head (nearest equivalent) to shoo them out of our atmosphere.

Either way, we’d still say “Hey”.

If they ever come at all, but in the meanwhile….we’ve clouds.

We’re just not dangerous enough yet. Or cool enough either. I’m doing my bit, but you should all really be a bit more dangerous.

Perhaps like the warrior in the garden, rather than the gardener in a war. But I’m frankly more interested in a dangerous gardner.

With big, purple and suggestive-as-hell vegetables. Mainly purple.

It’s nice to have a goal which accommodates climate change, since the UK is going to have no aims to avoid it.

And, purple vegetables. Very ‘in-vogue’. Very ‘end-times’.

It’s getting hotter. Leave the heating off, especially if you’re in the pub.

I like a cold pub. It’s a chance to wear your coat indoors, as though you’re at ski-resort in South London (great place to drink and ski but not actually the latter).

Or you can wear loads and loads of fashionable outfits, like the music video for ‘Only You’ performed by The Flying Pickets.

THAT’S fashion. THAT’S a chilly pub.

It’s scenic. Looks good. You can’t take it away from chilly pubs, from The Flying Pickets, and from magpies.

Take a magpie. Take two, they’re free.

Now flatten it.

And you’ve got yourself the flag I’ve always thought would suit me, and my inevitable nation-state, very well indeed thank you.

Of course the black, of course the white. But those two; with that blue……if not the heights, then certainly the depths of fashion.

The last thing I noted in this paper was an advert. For a book of a tale from a witness to warcrimes they endured as a child in WW2.

I’ve tried to write about this theme but I’ve struggled to summarise in my irreverent style.

WW2 is still the news. Because we still can’t quite believed it happened.

Probably a book worth reading. Like a newspaper worth enjoying the pictures of.

Sam