Thursday, 4 November 2010

Thursday 4 November 2010

I've seen some mad stuff in my time, believe me - but this honestly takes the Schmacko, it really does.

Is it me?  I mean, seriously.  Is it me?!

Taking cuttings from Geraniums.  Why?

Today was one of those autumn days that I love: sunny during the daylight hours, showing-off the autumnal colours in all their glorious golden splendour; an acceptable afternoon walk; a hearty dinner upon arrival home from the office and luxuriating in the warmth of one of my favourite blankets as the wind howls through the trees outside - my partner has left our French Windows curtains open, as I like to watch the trees as their branches bend and whirl about in the gales.  I was distracted, however, from these joys by the sight of my partner ascending our staircase with an odd assortment of items in her arms.  I felt I had no option but to follow.

I watched, intrigued, as my partner cut several small shoots from one of the geranium plants that hadn't been killed-off by the first frosts (oh, how I was grateful to those frosts - I've been trying for months to annihilate those bl**dy little hangers-on).  Initially, I assumed that my partner was experimenting with a bizarre form of plant-sacrifice to an as-yet un-named garden deity, and was failing miserably.
"Oh, give it here woman." I sighed, stretching out a wearily-resigned paw.  "I'll finish it off for you."
"No, no Jasper!" cried my sweet young partner, gently patting me.  "I'm not killing it; I'm trying to propagate some new plants!"
"Proper-what?!"  Oh, here was a new one...  Images of a Nixon-Watergate-type scandal flashed briefly before my eyes...  I thought I had hidden what I'd recently done in the garden beyond any form of investigative discovery...

"Propagate!  It means that you help to start a new life, in this case a baby geranium, from the flesh of an old one."
"Fine..." I muttered doubtfully.  "Why?"
"Because I would like some geraniums in the garden next year and want to have a go at doing this.  It's exciting!"

I wasn't convinced.  I looked dubiously on as my partner rinsed and soaked her three tiny shootlings in the bathroom sink.  She was following a set of instructions obtained from the BBC website's gardening pages.  Hmmm...  I bark no complaint whatsoever about the BBC's cookery pages (particularly the excellent and always-reliable recipe finder) - but gardening?  Oh no.  Gardens are for basking and relaxing in, not for the encouragement of salads (which can be easily procured from our local greengrocer with only minimal effort) and/or noxious weeds.  To my mind, gardening is like stroking a cat:- relaxing to a human at the time - but ultimately pointless.

As my partner carefully dipped each cutting into a small white tub of brown gloopy stuff, described as "rooting gel", I decided it was time to put my paw down.
"Those geraniums are not being planted out in my garden." I barked.
"Quite right, Jasper." responded my partner, not even turning to look at me.  "These geraniums are being planted out in our garden."


As if the above-described madness wasn't ludicrous enough, once the tiny shoots had been "potted" in a small flower-pot, my partner constructed an elaborate 'tent' for them out of three small twigs and some clear plastic sheeting.  This witlessness accomplished, the shoots in their little bubble-cocoon was placed (markedly out of my reach) on our bedroom window-sill.  I quickly scanned the locality for leg-up points to utilise when my partner's back was turned, but none showed any promise - and the bedroom sill IS particularly high.

I had been thwarted again.  Adopting a thunderous expression, I stalked back downstairs and sought refuge in my armchair.  I endeavoured to find succour in a resumption of watching the winds in the trees outside my French windows - but, alas, the whirling and bending branches now seemed as though they were fingers, pointing at me in derision and making offensive hand-gestures.  The howling winds had taken on the distinct tones of taunting, mocking laughter... and they were laughing at me.

I shoved my head under a couple of cushions and made a mental note to mete out an appropriate punishment to my partner for her disrespectful impudence the very next time my bladder was full.

More "Evolution" next time!

Good night.
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