Whimsy on a Wednesday bringing you a word to the wise on wonky vegetables and floral faux pas!

Once upon a time I would have spent a bank holiday probably travelling somewhere: the zoo, abroad, the British coast perhaps? Or, I might’ve gone on an all-dayer mixed with retail therapy, a bag of chips, and anywhere that did happy hour for 5 hours. That would have been me, making the most of it all on a long, late August weekend to see the summer off in style.

This time?

Well this year one has got a bit more classy and found that village life offers a new kind of high jinks that has been kept a secret from me for many years. In fact, it has come to my attention that villagers are as sneaky as they get and you’re only in the know, when you know, if you know what I mean. 

Maybe it’s because my posse have shown their finest hand by helping with the moles, dead -heading the flower boxes, and even weeding in the graveyard to keep the remembrance garden free form unwanted untidiness. Perhaps God has looked down in kindness and thought, Yes, now you have paid your debt to the community you may know about things. The wisdom of all the village years will be imparted to you.

I need to know about potatoes

The local summer horticultural show has been going on all these years behind my back but now I’m part of the gang. Off to the show I went to be met with freshly made honey straight out of the hive…

An array and abundance of harvest and floral finery…

“Look at those taters!” I declared.

“The way to win at potatoes is this…” an elderly and well spoken, well-dressed lady sidled up to me, looking around for nosey parkers before continuing. “Water. Plenty of it. That’s how you get a winning weight.” 

“Right. I shall take that knowledge and… know about potatoes forever.” I said. Perhaps she was an angel, I don’t know. 

On it continued. Plate after plate of shiny vegetables.

Tomatoes,

baskets of fruit,

but the vegetable that took me to the dizzy heights of ecstasy  was the onion.

Look at them.

Regard how its top is cut, folded and wrapped in raffia like a most prized gift. Never in all my bulbous days have I seen such finery on an onion. This, my friends, is an onion worth crying for. 

After many a vegetable we moved on to fabulous floristry.

‘ere flower, wanna see my prize stems?

The ubiquitous prize Dahlias.

And the best of the bunch, tinged with a lilac kiss. 

My word! I nearly had to have a sit down with a Mr Whippy and listen to the brass band but then I noticed a clown.

Toot Toot, Fellow friend!

I smiled at the clown and very nearly put on my emergency clown nose but didn’t want to get barred yet as I hadn’t seen the ‘Floral Art’ which I’d been saving until last.

The clown had a little striped box that looked suspiciously like a Punch and Judy tent. Well, imagine my delight when Judy came out with her rolling pin and belted Punch right around the chops. Old school puppet thuggery still thrives in a village. I felt so proud. Then I got over excited when the crocodile came and I was told that that was enough and to make my way to the floral art display.

I am disappointed to say that I didn’t take any photographs because I was beside myself. Beautiful artistry displayed itself in admirable themes: The most unusual vestibule for a floral display. If only I had brought my cowboy boots! Transparency, sweets and candy and so on. The visions of creativity and glorious imagination unfolded like a picture book.  Everyone agreed that this was so my thing and that I really should enter next year. 

And then, somebody noticed something. Somebody noticed and read the notes left under some of the displays. Little notes of criticism, constructive of course, because of course it wouldn’t be passive-aggressive, self-serving, uppity  power-driven spite, no, left by the judges of the show.

“No, she can’t enter.” They spoke about me like I wasn’t there. “Can you imagine if someone left a note under Jules’ entry? LOL. She’d be demanding to have a little chat with the judge. It’d be a nightmare. Then a few judges would be found mysteriously dead and she’d be arrested. No. She can’t enter.”

“Excuse me! In the room…or large tent… pedantics… I wouldn’t get any notes. I’d win. Duh.” 

However, I did wonder if I was ready for that. Baby steps. Maybe just viewing others work as an onlooker is enough for now. We wouldn’t want things to get nasty after such personal growth. 

Or…

Now that I’m a wisdomous villager in the know…

Perhaps I could be a judge?

 WITH a clown nose.