What with the potato triffid and now my gladioli, I was thinking that I was possibly the reincarnation of Percy Thrower. If I indeed am then Percy Thrower was probably an actor employed by Blue Peter to look jolly and point at plants, he was a shit gardener.
The potato triffid looks at me as I type from its balcony prison, pointing it’s leaves at me in an accusatory glance. “Why did you put me outside in September? WHY?”
I am genuinely concerned that one morning I’ll wake up to find it’s vine twirled round my throat and soil in my pants (of my own).
But, the potato triffid was an accident, the splicing of corn and potato (well, planting in the same pot) made a monster, it needs to be killed before it takes over the world. Though obviously I’ve seen these films, by trying to kill it off with the cold all I will succeed in doing is making it angry and more determined and somehow stronger and will undoubtedly eradicate humanity.
So, in advance, sorry.
But now of course I have my 50p Gladioli. They have flowereded and everything. I am happy, they look proper. This is good.
But they obviously have some mystical affinity with the potato triffid only 15ft away. Or the potato triffid has used its Carrie like telekinesis, or maybe like Ludo could call the rocks. But as I was sat humbly working at my desk, with no warning whatsoever (thus disproving the Ludo theory) the vase (plastic bottle) fell over, spilling water mixed with plant food all over my desk, and therefore approaching my bits of paper things and threatening to spill off of the desk on to the computer and stereo living underneath. Using a page of a scipt, a pillowcase and some fag butts I managed to stem the flow. Just.
Nothing was lost, but now I fear that all plants are against me, I’ll have to get a special suit made and have a local news report and everything.