Mr B’s attack on the forget-me-nots in our back garden has not gone down well with readers of the Daily Blog. So far, not a single voice has been raised in support of his demand for a Forget-me-Not Cull, as described
in a previous blog. The final vote of confidence in the Small Blue Flower came with the information that Meghan Markle’s bridal bouquet included, yes, forget-me-nots, what else?
I passed this news on to Mr B, along with the background detail that forget-me-nots were Princess Di’s favourite flower and the stems included in the bouquet had been gathered by the groom himself from his father’s garden
at Highgrove. Mr B let it be known, in his own inimitable fashion, that he couldn’t care less and proffered the suggestion that the Prince of Wales, asked if his son might raid his garden, probably told Our Harry (as we will call him) that he could clear
the whole garden of forget-me-nots for all he cared. The good thing about such propositions is that nobody can prove them right or wrong so we can all arrive at our own conclusions. Me, I’m still on the side of the forget-me-nots.
Having put you right (or, possibly, wrong) on this matter, it occurred to me that you might appreciate an update or two on other topics raised in my Random Ramblings recently. For
example, have I made any more birthday banners lately? Have I taken a trip on the engine which has replaced the Famous Littlehampton Boat Train? And, most importantly, have I worked out how to get Mr B from our house to next door’s back garden for the
forthcoming Bank Holiday barbecue? Yes, no and no, if you really need to know.
I had to make not one, but two birthday banners for May 20th, one for Young Morgan
(“Morgan is Six”) and one for my Son in Law, Dunk’em Dave (“Dave is Fifty”). As you know, I do like a birthday banner that tells it as it is - and why make one banner, I always say, when you could make two? I did rather disgrace
myself by managing to send Dunk’em Dave’s banner, along with his birthday card, to the wrong address. It was a majorly senior moment. Even as I posted the large envelope, containing said banner, I had a horrible feeling that I had the right county,
the right town, the right road - but the wrong house number. I came clean to the Youngest of the Darling Daughters who was not at all pleased (though she was far too kind to make a point of it) on account of her not being at all sure about the inhabitants
of the house to which I had addressed my package. I kid you not, I was all ready to make another banner (Dave would have still been fifty, you understand) when I received a cheery message saying: “Banner retrieved!” Thank goodness for that!
No, I still haven’t checked out the new train running along Littlehampton promenade. We might have checked it out last Saturday but, as regular readers will recall,
instead of heading to the seaside, we spent a happy, sunny afternoon in the back garden while the Trio of Rampaging Rascals (i) watered the plants; (ii) painted the garage door and walls with water; and (iii) tenderly attended to Basil the dog. As soon as
I have something Train-Related to tell you, rest assured that you will be the first to know.
Then there’s the Bank Holiday Barbecue, one of those red letter
days which Mr B will not want to miss. Matt Next Door is confident that there will be no problem: for my part, I am thinking I may have to take a back seat and leave others, stronger than I, to manhandle Mr B and his wheelchair through garden gates, along
side alleyways, over steps and into next door’s back garden. Where there’s a will, there is surely a way.
As Cinderella to the ball, so Mr B WILL go
to the barbecue...