For the love of Alan

The morons who went on a driving and stabbing rampage at London Bridge and Borough Market last night were overheard to shout something that sounded like “This is for Allah!” Naturally this led people to think they were Muslim terrorists. And, of course, the media has latched onto this and spread it everywhere. I think it would be far better if the media took the piss out of them, stating that they MIGHT have said “This is for Allah!” but could just as easily have shouted “This is for Alan!” They could then go on to wonder who Alan is/was/will be and what sort of religious nonsense the Followers of Alan believe in.

Later there were witness statements that claimed they were actually shouting ‘Allah Akbar’ which is a sort of Islamic version of the New Zealand Haka. This made me think that it could easily be a mondagreen, mistakenly heard as ‘Alan Ayckbourn,’ the English playwright whose plays haven’t been very good over recent years…not that I think they are bad enough to go all terrorist over.

But enough of that (though I think it’s very important to take the piss out of these morons as much as possible). We decided to do something quintessentially English and visit other people’s gardens.

Lower Froyle is a tiny village near Alton and every year a whole load of residents open their gardens for charity. We cheekily parked up in the pub and went and visited three of them.

The first garden we visited was delightfully compact with a veritable flood of flowers. The lawn was immaculate (it really was a ‘lawn’ and makes ours look like a quarry) and there was even a little hump backed bridge across a small water feature induced stream. Possibly the best bit was the borrowed landscape over the back fence which provided far reaching views across farmland.

We had a lovely chat with the owners (he gardens, she has no idea – her words, not mine) who made a big fuss over the girls. One of their daughters owns a cockerpoo so they are well versed in the delights of the cross breed. Their other daughter has a King Charles spaniel and there was some discussion regarding the annoyance of how much hair it sheds whenever it comes to visit. She confided in us that she calls them her grand-puppies. I told her she was not alone because this was exactly what my mum called ours.

Mirinda then wanted to know the name of a particular plant in the garden. The wife directed us to the husband. The husband, winner of countless gardening awards and friends with a professional or two, didn’t know. He told Mirinda she wasn’t the first to ask and wouldn’t be the last. He had provided numerous local gardens with them because, as he said, they are somewhat invasive.

We then walked to the next garden.

Like chalk and cheese, the second resembled the first only by the fact that they were both gardens…and the fact that the borrowed landscape was more farmland. The garden itself was huge with borders, lawn and a delightful rose fairy arch walk with the most intoxicating perfume.

Walking through the hedge, we then discovered the orchard, the pond and the woodland area. That makes it sound like it was 100 acres but it wasn’t that big. Possibly about two acres, but beautifully laid out to provide different rooms to delight the senses and please the eye. (One thing that pleased my eye was a few instances of bind weed.)

Our final garden (there were more but Mirinda took pity on me) was a lovely, slightly ramshackle affair which I’d have to say was my favourite. Apart from the dead crow in the vegie patch, the rambling nature of the garden and the few weeds dotted in between the flowers made it a little bit more realistic for me.

The owner had a number of dogs (one wandering, two on her lap and another on a lead) that the girls were momentarily interested in before then ignoring them completely. The dachshunds on her lap had a bit of a growl but the owner told them to shut up in no uncertain terms.

The gardens we visit tend to be pretty close to perfect so it’s very refreshing to see one that’s a little closer to normal. It also makes it feel a little more possible that someone lives in and enjoys it.

And that was it for us in the gardens of Lower Froyle. We wandered back to the pub (the wonderful Anchor Inn) where we had a very welcome drink before heading home in time to meet the Sainsbury’s delivery guy.

Returning briefly to the London Bridge insanity…I just love this tweet:

I wish Xians would pray before terrorism strikes rather than after. Seems like a "good" God would want to prevent evil, not manage it.

— Amateur Exegete (@amateurexegete) June 4, 2017

Note that ‘Xians’ is a Twitter abbreviation for ‘Christians.’