The rudeness of the middle classes

The other weekend, we went to Wisley. For those of you that don’t know where or what it is, it’s just down the A3 near Guildford and it’s a massive Royal Horticultural Society garden.

We went there because, despite the atrocious weather and the obvious attraction of a beautiful garden full of spring blooms, there was a craft fair. We took my mother-in –law because the following day was her birthday. She had no idea what she wanted as a pressie, so we were rather hopeful that she might find a small indulgence in one of the  craft tents that she would never dream of buying herself but might like us to give her.

Anyway, it was tipping it down when we got there and we decided, after a quick amble round the first tent full of ceramics and painted glass, to get a coffee in the rather posh café. The Hubby and his Mum found a table, and I queued up with the anoraked masses for the cappuccino.

All went well for a few minutes and we all dutifully shunted down the counter towards the hot drinks, occasionally picking up the odd cake or biscuit on the way (strategically placed for our grasping hands much like supermarkets put sweets by the till). The trouble came when we approached the end of the line and whilst waiting for our coffee, gaps opened up between the Gaggia and the tills.

All of a sudden, a short stumpy man dressed, so far as I could see, head to toe in elasticated waist cotton traders clothing, barged in front of me just as I was turning from the coffee machine to move towards the tills. He hadn’t wanted coffee, and so had seen his chance to jump the queue to pay for his cheese sarnie and crisps. Fair do’s, you might say, but not once did he say “excuse me”, “do you mind if I nip in front of you as I don’t want a hot drink” or any other pleasantry which you might expect from the chattering middle classes on a day out. He hadn’t cared who he jostled or barged, only that he was going to shave 30 seconds off his waiting time by getting there first. He was, excuse the language, a rude little git.

Later, going round the remaining tents, time and again there was amazing rudeness from the inhabitants of middle England (that’s a bit like saying the inhabitants of Middle Earth, and we all know what they were like in Lord of the Rings, but let’s not get sidetracked there!). Pushing in front of you, interrupting when you are talking to the stallholder, or speaking to the very talented people who make this lovely stuff like they were serfs.

There is something very unattractive about the middle classes en masse. There is an inate arrogance which makes them think the normal conventions and manners of society do not apply to them when they want something, and which makes them think they are better than everyone else. I really dislike them, or at least having to be in close proximity to them, but unfortunately if you want to go to events like this you have to put up with them.

Despite their rudeness, all in all it was a nice day. Eventually the sun shone, we had a nice long lunch and I bought myself something even if The Hubby’s Mum dithered and couldn’t make up her mind. In the end we gave her cash – how soulless and commercial is that – but what else can you do when someone will never give you an idea and when asked what they might like says “Oh, anything really”.

One year I’m tempted to give her a tin of cat food, just to see what she says! (She doesn’t have a cat!)

Why do I kill houseplants?

I am the kiss of death to houseplants.

I try incredibly hard to keep them looking beautiful and green, but somehow or other I always seem to get it wrong. i have no idea whether I overwater them, underwater them, place them in a draught, deprive them of light, give them too much sun or whatever, somehow or other they all seem to die, usually slowly and, from the look of them, fairly painfully.

I am writing this looking at a lovely lily plant I was given for Mother's Day. When it arrived in the house, it was a luscious dark green with glossy leaves and tight buds full of promise to be pure white flowers filled with fragrance. Now, after almost three weeks of my tender care, the leaves are going yellow and falling off from the bottom of the stem and the flowers, whilst they have come out and smell nice, are curling and looking brown at the edges. I have done my best with it,  keeping it moist but not sitting in water, in good light but not brilliant sunlight and out of a draught. But still it is dying.

It's all the more surprising that I can't do this because I was brought up in a family that had a massive garden and practised horticulture with a considerable degree of success. My Dad was a groundsman for a big school whose gardens he kept looking immaculate, and he also gardened and grew vegetables as a hobby, winning prize after prize at the local horticulture society's annual show. My Mum could garden too, and after my Dad's death kept on his allotment from which she shared vast quantities of fresh veg each summer along with some beautiful flowers.

Although I can do OK in the garden and the greenhouse (although last year my tomatoes were a dismal failure and something ate all my potatoes while they were still in the ground), I simply cannot keep plants in the house, so clearly my parents' talents have not rubbed off on me. On my dining room table at the moment I am nurturing a variety of baby plants for the summer; some fushias and geraniums for pots on the patio and several chilli plants. They are all doing OK with the aid of Miracle Gro, but the begonias I bought at the same time look decidedly sick. They are flopping over, one or two have rotted at the base and they aren't growing. What do I do wrong?

I never buy myself plants any more, because I know it is a waste of money. I prefer fresh flowers anyway, and those I never seem to have trouble with. I have some chrysanthemums in a vase in the lounge which have also been here two weeks and with just a little fresh water and a new sachet of flower food they still look lovely.

I will continue caring for my remaining healthy baby plants in my little table top nursery, because flowers and home grown food both look and taste much nicer than shop bought. They aren't cheaper, don't make the mistake of thinking that, but there is a certain satisfaction from saying "I grew that!". I hope I get to say it this year - fingers crossed!

Global warming - bring it on?

The weather seems totally up the creek at the moment, probably without a paddle. It is, quite simply, lovely outside. It has been for a few days now, and the outlook for the rest of the week is more of the same. 

As you will know from previous blogs, I love the sun. The bright days and blue skies make me smile, lift my mood and make the world seem more bearable. Just! If this is global warming, in many ways bring it on. 

Of course I don't mean that, as I know it will cause suffering in many places, in particular those countries that are experiencing unusual levels of flooding. The extreme temperatures that we are promised in the next few decades are not yet affecting us, but the higher than normal rainfall is. Not that you'd notice it in the south east of England which is officially and somewhat ludicrously on drought alert. 

The water companies really ought to be shot for allowing us to get into this position. Since 1976, the hottest summer in living memory, they have been complaining on and off about ground water levels, reservoir levels and lack of rainfall, all in one of the greenest and most fertile countries on earth. How on earth would they cope if they worked in the hot arid areas of Africa or the Mediterranean? They say that they are investing in their infrastructure and becoming more efficient, but all you and I see is our bills increasing and the same old complaints and restrictions year after year after year.

If it is so difficult to harvest enough water from rainfall within existing infrastructure, we have to look elsewhere. Build some more reservoirs in the places which experience regular shortages, invest in desalination, research other methods of cleaning dirty waste to make it fit for use. Alongside this replace the old Victorian pipes which many places still depend upon and which leak like sieves. Reduce fat cat bonuses for the top bosses in these companies until they are more efficient and employ more workers using more sustainable materials to future proof the service. I know there is a cost to all this, but I think if we could see some tangible proof of improvement we wouldn't mind paying. And it's not rocket science!

In the meantime, we all ought to curb our excessive usage. Shower instead of bath, only use the dishwasher when it's full, only wash clothes when they are actually dirty and not just because you have worn them for five minutes. I never forget having an argument with an old work colleague who recycled everything religiously and insisted on getting it squeaky clean beforehand - she used the world's most precious resource (yes, water) to wash her tin cans in the dishwasher just so she could put them in the recycling and not in the bin, and the irony was lost on her!

I will not be growing any crops this year as we are not allowed to use the hosepipe and I can't be fagged to carry the watering can up and down the garden about twenty times an evening when I get in from work. Life is simply too short, and it's not as though growing your own saves you money, it's damned expensive.

And I may well be complaining to Southern Water that instead of stopping me watering my plants, maybe they should stop people filling swimming pools and ponds. And get on with updating their service - it's about time!