Carillon Magazine

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Issue 16

Pride and Pesticide
John Kent (Blackpool)

"Look, Mabel, I know that Geranium is your pride and joy but don't you think this is takings things a bit far?"

"There's precious little in this life that's more important," she retorted. "A dinner once in a while would be nice," I ventured.

She fixed me with a stare that could mortify a rhino. This fixation with the local flower show had taken over her life - and mine.

"Couldn't you just put it down for five minutes and knock me up a bacon butty? I've had a hard day."

"Put it down! The air is festooned with all manner of pestilence. Are you completely mad?"

She's stood, potted plant under one arm, a bug gun strapped to her waste, looking like a refugee from High Noon and she has the temerity to suggest I'm mad.

Still a month to judgement day, Mabel demanded that we organise a night shift. Yeah, right!

Dutifully I rolled out of bed at four am for my shift. '' . I had to admit it was a handsome sight but one of us had to go.

A little bit of doctoring to the spray with some weedkiller and a little patience was required.

A couple of days passed when a shriek from the lounge announced the success of my endeavour. I rushed through - my expression a study of concern.

"What's up, Mabel?"

She pointed, hand shaking, "There. That leaf. The tip is brown. It's dying."

Shame. I was so looking forward to that show.