How Garden Centres can be employed to combat Calvinism

One of the things that I enjoy about being 'up in town', is just how friendly most people are. You can strike up a conversation in the certain knowledge you are almost certainly never to meet the cove again so the flow of wit need not be capped by regard to have to remember if you told this or that tale before. This is so different to many rural encounters where people will talk to you only to find out your business. Mind you, with increasing forgetfulness this can be useful as a few probing country questions can prod the memory and help a chap recall why the hell he came into this blasted village in the first place. Where was I?

 

Ah yes. Well, this recent heat had driven Mrs The Hon Sec out of the city and seeking sanctuary in one of the Hill Stations that dot the folds and valleys of the Chilterns. I was a loose end, and, sitting on a park bench and wondering just how long I was likely to be banged up for for feeding either ducks or pigeons - I believe Mary Poppins is now regarded as a serious pest by many, a fellow parked himself by myself and  I struck up a conversation with my new al fresco friend.

 

Geoffrey Barrow, named after the place it appears, which given his trade was unsatisfactory, had had expectations of his rich uncle which, alas, were not forthcoming. Mind you, if your mother's brother tells you that 'Raja's Fourply' is a dead cert in the 3.30 and only a fool would not put his shirt on it you have only yourself to blame. Consequently, Barrow was short of a bob or two and could hear the bailiffs hammering at the door. Nature often proves the wit of man in such circumstance and it was this that propelled him into horticultural supplies.

 

It is a fact that the middling sort have problems with pleasure. I blame both Cromwells and probably John Wesley as well. Not for them the happy state of just going out and enjoying yourself, no!  Pleasure must be earnt.  Should Mr Middling declare he wanted to go for a drive and have a cake of a certain quality, his good lady would frown on such a notion.  If he was to suggest a visit to a garden centre, which, by the way, had a range of appetizing morsels and select beverages, his idea would be celebrated as a noble thing.  Gardening, after all, is both a physical and aesthetic labour and not for slackers.  Going to a garden centre, even if not a shrub were bought, was all the excuse needed to end a pleasant drive with a cream tea.

 

Barrow went to work.  He observed that, by and large, as the profits of Nurseries were more and more centred on the table and not the tilth. It was becoming increasing a nuisance to the owners that they needed to provide any plants at all.  The trouble was without any the moral conundrum of unearnt sugary treats could not be solved.  Barrow reasoned that if he could, for a decent fee, rent out plants of an appealing nature it would save the owners of Garden Centres a truck load of cash and act as a balm to troubled consciences.  Plants had been seen and it was nobody's fault if they were tired; leggy or lacking most of their leaves and petals and by the way, how long does the cafe remain open?

 

Geoffrey was a logistics master.  He moved his herbaceous herds from venue to venue, enough to make it look like they were bring in new stock, but made sure nothing would ever attract attention and so need to be replaced.  The one exception to this was a certain amount of bedding plants.  He would buy up the local supermarkets' cut price blooms and ensure that enough were around so that it appeared the Centre had had huge stocks of stocks but were down to the last few pansies.

 

Seeds give a place a sort of earnest tone and Barrow was not found wanting here.  He reasoned if he bought up ‘passed their date’ packets for a few pennies, provided they were the sort of plant no one would dream of growing, then they could be displayed for years.  He did have a small shock when some blasted Brylcreem smothered celebrity cook announced the Itchington Brussels Spout was a natural treasure but a few phone calls and a minor act of burglary prevented anyone discovering his ruse.

 

Such are the chance discoveries of the conversations forged on city benches.  Apparently Barrow intends to branch out.  He was a little close about his intentions however I suspect he may be responsible for the growth of those novelty trinkets and hopeless plaques which now populate former centres of plant purchase and extend the browsing time before tea.