The Onager Wrote An Enormous Cheque

While sending flowers to a friend last week I noticed that one of the available packages was called the Seduction Special. For £65.00 it contained some rather nasty looking chocolates, a few roses and a balloon. And a Teddy Bear. This reminded me of something that has confused me for a while: Why on earth is a teddy bear seductive? I can think of any number of things likely to slightly increase your chances but I am not sure if a teddy bear gives you many points. I see that winning Teddy Bears at funfairs by shooting ducks or ringing bells has a point as it it the closest many of us get to hunting and gathering: I am sure that those people one sees leaving fun fairs carrying lime green gonks are guaranteed a long evening. But to just buy a small teddy bear as an aide de seduction? I am probably wrong and  missed a lot of chances by not having a cutely pouting bunny in my back pocket at all times.

In my last Blog I forgot to share a small anniversary with you. Well, actually, I did not forget but I did look at the length of that post and decided that it would be inhuman not to stop. It is five years since this blog began. I cannot remember why I started but I am not sure how I would manage without it. In the beginning, actually for many, many months. I wrote stuff and absolutely nobody noticed. (Sniff).  Sadly I cannot remember who was the first person to comment on my blog as all the comments got lost in some vast crash in about 2007. Still the archive is here if you have lots of time on your hands, if I might pluck three random entries from the first month for you to taste. There was then an extended hiatus until May, I cannot remember why: oddly there were no complaints.

Rather Alarmingly The Goose Deflated (in which I plaintively ask if the post was too long: nobody answered so you brought future lengthy drivellings on your own heads).

Ping Went The Bra strap Of The Apocalypse (which is very dull and about plants. The promise of the title is not fulfilled.

He Swiftly Discovered That Fireworks Make Poor Air Fresheners (which quotes strange prose from Spam emails and mentions conifers)

I have been to Cumbria to write up a fine garden for Gardens Illustrated. I have not been there for ages: it is a very pretty part of the country especially with the sun shining. I decided, instead of staying up there overnight, to go up and down in a day and treat myself to a First Class ticket (not too awful if bought far enough in advance). People kept giving me food and cups of coffee, which was nice (i) although the constant rattling of china mugs and teaspoons was quite annoying at first. There were a number of important businessmen discussing commerce. I could just see, through the gap in the seats the laptop screen of the man in front.(ii) He was carrying out an intermittent and serious conversation with his colleague opposite: it may be about oil but could just as easily be about jam, I could not quite hear and it is non specific (it was probably more likely to be oil as nobody mentioned guavas (iii) or even tayberries). You would expect the laptop to be full of important figures and vital spreadsheets. It was not, he was playing a football game: the teams were, I believe, Norwich and Manchester United. I think they were 1-1 at the time. Offpeak, the carriage seemed to be full of pensioners. There must be deal going, cheap First Class tickets with Senior Citizen Railcards: personally I cannot wait.

There has been other stuff of note but that can wait: short and snappy should be our watchword. Except it never really is. At least not around here. This is not really a very strong and silent blog: if you want that you will have to go and hang out over at Cleve’s Blog as he never says much: just smoulders suggestively. The man is irresistible on so many counts.

I am listening to The Dark End of the Street sung by James Carr.

The picture is of Eryngium bourgattii: not a plant I like very much because of the variegated leaf but the flower is very steely and dramatic: and vicious if you press too much flesh in its direction.

1. Except the Croissant which was not nice at all. It carried none of the flaky butteriness we expect from the genre: instead it was more like a moulded extrusion made from india rubber. (a)

(a) Sorry I know it is a big unusual to footnote a footnote but India Rubber. Not something you hear about much any more. It suddenly reminded me of the poem of King John’s Christmas by A.A.Milne.I have not read it for ages but King John (‘who was not a good man, he had his little ways.And sometimes no one spoke to him, For days and days and days’) wanted a ‘big red india rubber ball’ for Christmas. It is a charming poem: look it up. I bet Nigel Colborn knows it by heart.

2. I know I shouldn’t be being so nosey but it was only briefly and I was bored, okay. I was writing something and was having a bit of a think. It is allowed.

3. “Oooh Baby, Here I am! Come rub it on my belly like guava jam!”. Barbra Streisand. Bit weird but might be fun. Maybe if I take her a Teddy Bear…..