A Man and His Garden

Derek is in his mid-40s, his wife recently left him as he seemingly decided to choose his garden over her.

Derek:

I mean my pond has a long way to go, but the rest of my garden is in fine shape! There is a serious significance to your garden. It says a lot about a man. Now, if you’re all grass no plants, you are lazy and do not even deserve to have a garden. But, on the other hand, if you have so many plants, trees, water features and more so that you can barely realise there is actually any grass there… You are compensating for something. Buy a sports car instead.

My vegetable patch especially is in great nick. I have almost too many, I have to give most of my rhubarb away as I just can’t get through it all myself! That ex-wife of mine scoffed that rhubarb like a real piece of work. You know what she had the audacity to say to me? Before she left she told me I spent more time in the garden than with her! Well of course I did the silly woman spent all her time talking about stupid gossip. So and so did that, Mrs Bloggs cheated on her husband with her cousin, boring stories like that. If you want to peak my attention, tell me which garden centre they get their seed from. I mean she was clueless. If you ever tried to hold her down on a conversation about how to cultivate a carnation from bulb to flower, it would go right over her little head.

One day me and her were sat at the table having lunch and out of the blue she says to me: ‘Derek, I’ve had enough of you only giving your attention to the bloody garden. Pick. We can either get a gardener , or I am leaving for good.’ I didn’t even have to respond. I stood up, put my gardening cap and gloves on, and walked out into the garden. Done. It was really over then.

So yes she left me, her last words before she packed up and disappeared was this; ‘why don’t you bonk off with the fish, you talk to them far more than me!’ Then she was gone. But the thing is the fish listen to me. They understand me. If I tell them I’ve had a bad day, they’ll willingly soak it all up. Plus there isn’t a chance in hell that they will ever talk back! And all I have to do in return is feed them three times a day, with an extra meal if I think they have done a good job that day of getting that blessed weed out of my pond. And it isn’t just any fish food they get. Oh no. Only gourmet for my Coy.

In fact Wendy next door is quite the fan of my horticultural achievements. She has inspected it closely and I think if she likes my garden so much, she must love the genius behind its creation. Without the master right here, there is no garden. So I invited her over for a Barbeque. It was going well, until she said she thought I should plant another tree at the end of the garden next to where my rose bush is. The cheek of her. I didn’t need to say anything. I just stood up, put my gardening cap and gloves on, and walked out into the garden. I looked at my fish and said to myself; ‘let’s forget about women. Now it is just me and you.’

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