Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Welcome To The Jungle

There is a place in Cheshire where a perfectly respectable house is inhabited by garden slobs who wistfully survey weeds and grass gone to seed from the bedroom window, cup of tea in hand, rampaging dogs at large. I am entirely certain that some of my neighbours find the Jag parked on the sunken-in drive infested by weeds mind-boggling and completely at odds with the garden mess. Cheshire is, after all, the place that is considered (erroneously and strangely, considering how much rain it gets) the Florida of Britain (by wishful-thinking people who have obviously never been to Florida) and where the working classes live under the misguided assumption that the mega-mansion will take them up a few notches into the land of the upper classes. News flash Ruuuunay: it doesn’t.

You can take the boy out of the working class, but you cannot take the working class out of the boy and this alone is a reason to be thrilled to be living in England, where class preoccupations are alive and well and where class is defined by a number of complicated variables, none of them including income. This is near inexplicable to our cousins the Yanks who rather simple-mindedly move people up and down the class ladder depending on income changes. I say this in the fondest and most endearing way; I personally love the black-and-white (trash) American class views. Life is much simpler there than in good old England, but the intricacies of interpersonal skills are far less subtle also.

Despite the jungle-like aspect of my front, and especially back, gardens, I rather like sitting on my lone deckchair to knit or read and not long ago I insisted on planting bulbs that were three months past their planting range. No bother of mine. The other day I spotted a flower coming up through the carefully tended rubble. Problem is: I don’t know what I planted. So if you know what this thing is, please let me know.

It goes to show that nature (and human nature) is a resilient thing, despite the adverse conditions. If I repeat Florida to myself enough times, I may actually turn the jungle into a garden you know.
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