Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Percy Thrower Would Turn In His Grave: A great many people, even here in wold Dorset, live in flats, apartments, or have small gardens and never need to look around the local nurseries. We are, of course, talking about the nurseries which sell plants, which are not Robert, trees and shrubs; not the creche variety which is all Farley's rusks, Gerber foods and Pamper's nappies.
No, these are grown in plastic pots and tubs, and have gardener's flocking there in their droves from Easter until Autumn; and are then closed until the following Spring.
Well, that's how it used to be. Nurseries these days, in an effort to keep their tills a ringing all the year around; are an absolute wonderland of Christmas trees, cards, indoor and outdoor lights, and all manner of other curiosities which, if you don't know they are there, then you're really missing out.
But rather like the pub's I was on a about a few days ago, these nurseries are also up to their own tricks with, at the very minimum, a Dorset cream tea, or a full 3-course meal. They also sell budget books and DVD's and quite expensive paintings, and oh yes, if you happen to go outside, the sell potted plants but not Robert, and shrubs and trees, too.
So if you're choosing your Hydrangea or your Prunus, you will also see Granddad with gravy dribbling down his chin after seeing what it's cost him to treat the family to a slap-up meal, when at the outset they'd just tagged along whilst he bought a couple of bags of horse manure to put around his roses for the Winter.
Just because it's dark, cold, raining or all three, don't drive past your local nursery, call in; but just make sure your flexible friend is armed and ready to be spanked.