I think my green fingers may have gone mouldy. My balcony is in stasis, and my attention span has waned to plant genocide levels.
I want to cut them all down and send them to a logging firm in Canada.
Why?
Because they’re not fucking doing anything, I don’t particularly want them to be juggling or anything (well, I do, but I want a lot of impossible things – like a hoverbath).
But they’re not flowering, or growing, just staying as they are. I expect that proper gardeners on gardeners question time would tell me that each one flowers on a particularly day in August and this is the point, you can’t rush it.
But I want to. So have threatened them with not watering because of the drought, unless they grow, this should settle the age old debate as to whether talking to plants makes any difference, well, swearing at them at least.
Claire keeps telling me we need new pots cos the ones we have are too small. But I’m reluctant to pay the extra expense, they haven’t fucking earned it.