Posts Tagged ‘Flowers’


Summer’s new hydrangeas blooming in the rain
Summer’s hydrangeas in the pouring rain
Blooming rain
Blooming hydrangeas
It’s raining, it’s summer and the hydrangeas are…….
Blooming lovely

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I was struggling to make progress with Twenty Tips For Conversational Spanish (A long-planned trip to Paraguay was only a few weeks away) when I heard a voice.

“I think I’m next to you.” An elderly woman in her late seventies stood over me. She held a Cheese plant in her right hand.

“Could you help me with my luggage?”

I stood up to allow her to claim her seat by the window.  She folded down the seat tray and carefully placed the plant on it.

“There you go Love, right by the window – as always!”

I studied the suitcase. It was large. Very large.

“Fuck me!” I blurted out as I tried to lift it, “Have you got a dead body in here?” I regretted what I had said. The old woman was close to tears. She picked up the Cheese plant and stroked its leaves.

“There, there Harold, don’t get upset.”

I managed to get the suitcase into the bottom of the luggage rack. A whimper came from inside the case.

I returned to my seat out of breath from my exertions.

“Thanks. Do you know what time the train gets into Derby?”

The woman had a thin yet kindly face, scarred by years of smoking cigarettes. Her dentures rattled in her mouth.

“About twelve thirty.”

I returned to my book. “Donde este l’estacion por Madrid por favor?” I remained flummoxed by the lingo.

“Harold loved travelling by train. Always sat by the window. Such a shame he got too close to the Lion in the Zoo. I’ve asked them if I could put up a nameplate on his favourite bench, by the Penguin enclosure.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I’ve had the plate made up already – “Malcolm Brabant 1936 to 2012 – He loved to sit here and play with himself” – I still haven’t heard from them.”

“Are his ashes in with the plant then?”

“Yes – I picked him up this morning from the Undertaker. One hundred and twenty-five pounds for a casket! Fuck that I thought to myself, so I chucked him in here when they weren’t looking.” She pointed to the Cheese plant.

The guard arrived at the far end of the carriage.

“Tickets please!”

The old woman stood up and walked to the suitcase.

“Ivy. Keep quiet. They are checking tickets!”

“I need the toilet Audrey,” the suitcase replied.

“Donde este le Servicios?” I muttered to myself, still unsure of the Spanish tongue.

They were put off at Birmingham New Street. Audrey knocked the Policeman’s helmet off with the Cheese plant during the fracas. Ivy’s left hand became entwined in a wreath also stolen from the Undertaker’s. A Flower Arranger, who luckily happened to be on board at the time, managed to free her.

Harold’s remains were accidentally scattered on the escalator.  Not the end Audrey had planned but at least the bench would offer solace. Hopefully with a revised epithet.

Paraguay was fascinating. But my Spanish let me down.

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