Bulbous

I am very excited indeed.

I have got some new plants.

They came in the post today.

I ordered them online last year, last year, from a website that promised, vaguely, to dispatch them in time for the spring planting.

I would not normally bother with that sort of thing, when I buy something I like it to arrive half an hour later, delivered to my doorstep by a scruffy-looking bloke in a white van who will not understand that you have to ring the doorbell to gain admission, and who will need to be pursued down the street as he bears my treasures away again.

As it happened I did not read the website instructions properly and so was surprised and disgruntled when it said, after taking my card payment, thanks very much, obviously these things are not in season at the moment, we will send them when eventually they are, see you in the next life.

It was so long ago that I had forgotten all about it, until they sent me an email yesterday and the parcels arrived today.

It is like getting a present from my past self. Somebody, who knew exactly the sort of thing I might like in the conservatory, has sent me something lovely. There are lots of lily bulbs and a fig tree and some bamboo.

Obviously I know that the bamboo will spread like billy-oh if I put it in the flower beds, and so it can live in a pot in the garden looking tall and imposing for a while, after which it can move up to the farm, where I can let it grow into a monster and eventually cut it for bamboo sticks. I use lots of these, you do if you grow tomatoes, and they go black and brittle if you re-use them too often.

I once saw some very fat chunks of bamboo which had been cut into bits and used as the scoops on a water wheel. In my dreams my bamboo will become this robust, and we can use it to build all sorts of creative things, not least a water wheel, which is something Oliver and Mark keep rabbiting about.

I don’t suppose that will happen really. I suspect that once we move it up to the farm the sheep will bash the fence down and move in on it like ravening pandas, and that will be the end of that.

I have not opened them yet. I am waiting for Mark and Oliver to come home from work. Something as exciting as that ought to be shared.

They have just telephoned to say that they are going to be late. I will have to try and think about something else for half an hour longer.

I have not spent the entire day wagging about trying not to open a fig tree and some bamboo. In fact I have had quite an exciting adventure.

The lodger and I have been to Asda together, and it wasn’t even illegal.

We are allowed to do things like this together because I am a taxi driver and am allowed to take absolutely anybody I like in my taxi. They are supposed to be a customer, and she was, sort of, in a not-got-any-money sort of way, so it was perfectly all right.

We drove really slowly. Partly this was so that we had lots of time to talk but it was also because my car has developed an alarming wiggle on the steering. It steers all right but rattles alarmingly, so much so that when I got to Asda I telephoned Mark whilst I was trying to decide what sort of shower gel Oliver might like now that he is a grown up. He is so grown up that I will have to start investing in razors soon, and the shower gel might be important.

I did not trouble Mark with ruminations about shower gel, because he was at work and is not always patient about that sort of disturbance. He made concerned noises about the car and said that it might be a thing that had snapped, and I should just drive carefully. He wondered if the wheel nuts might have come loose, and suggested that I looked, but they all appeared to be underneath hub caps so I didn’t bother.

I like to think that I am Mark’s feminist equal until something goes wrong with the car. At that point I am definitely a Helpless Little Woman in need of rescue, especially if it is raining. Cars are full of rusty difficult things that involve lying in the road swearing, and really that is just not my style. There are some parts of life for which you definitely need a husband.

The lodger has not been to Asda for ages, because it is difficult when you have only got one functioning hand. It is such a long time that she thought it was quite exciting and splendid, although surprised and downcast to discover that Asda does not sell lots of things any more, and there are empty shelves all over the place. I have become used to this now, although it is still tiresome

Today they were not selling vinegar, which was irritating, because I use it to make barbecue sauce for chicken, and mayonnaise for everybody’s sandwiches. I had to get some in the Co-op later.

Despite this it was a greatly improved experience, and I minded considerably less than I usually do.

Mark is coming home. I can hear the car.

I am going to go away and open a fig tree.

LATER NOTE: We opened the plants, and they are ace. There are loads of bulbs, enough to fill the house with lilies if they all grow.

I got distracted with the opening, and forgot about dinner, but it did not matter. Mark said that burned on the outside and raw on the inside was his very favourite sort of evening meal, so that was all right.

Have a picture of some bulbs. The fig tree and the bamboo are just sticks at the moment.

They are exciting sticks for all that.