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The Plant Blether
by Patrick
Vickery
There's nothing like buying a plant to put
you in the mood for a spot of gardening, is there? I'm fond of those plant
stalls that you find at markets and car boot sales because you never know
what you might come across and the plants are usually quite cheap.
In the past I've sold plants at car boot sales myself, five or six pounds
for a pitch, forty or fifty plants - maybe more - neatly labeled in smart
pots, a flask of coffee and a tasty sandwich, then 'Bob's your Uncle',
simply watch the cash roll in, or that's the theory anyway, though in
reality it doesn't always work like that, not if there's inclement weather
to keep the plant buying public at bay, or an alternative attraction
elsewhere (an international football match on the television perhaps). If
so, you might be
lucky to cover your costs. I find it's best to treat these things as a
social event myself, an opportunity for a good blether with old friends -
blether, blether, blether - and a chance to catch up on the local gossip.
If you intend to sell plants yourself on a regular basis of course, then
there are some pitfalls to be aware of.
"You sold me a Geum last time," one man bellowed at me across
the table, "only it was an Oriental Poppy!"
Easy mistake to make. Best apologize when this happens, smile pleasantly,
defer to the customer's expert opinion (he was probably right anyway),
offer a replacement, chat pleasantly about the weather, go for the
'distraction' approach, non-confrontational.
"And what about the Lupin that should have been red, it was lime
green!!"
"Well obviously a mutation, obviously, obviously, very rare
indeed." This said with a smile. "Weren't you the lucky
one?"
And then of course there was the woman who wanted worms.
"Do you sell worms?" she enquired.
"Worms?"
"Worms for the garden?"
Do people really buy worms? Was she serious?
"No, sorry, don't do worms."
I enjoy a good browse around the plant stalls myself, always on the look
out for plants with potential. I remember one occasion particularly
well. (A car boot sale, Inverness, one Saturday morning). I was
studying the horticultural display on the table in front of me - and
paying particular attention, in fact, to some brown vegetation cascading
down the side of a pot in a limp and dead sort of way - when the
stallholder caught my eye.
"Good plant, that," he said, "looks half-dead now, you
know, half-dead, but you should have seen it yesterday, looked fully dead
then, fully dead. Dug it up myself, fine specimen, fifty pence to
you, sir"
Well what's the world coming to, I asked myself, when somebody wants fifty
pence for a dead plant? And worse still, I paid fifty pence for it too. He
was very persuasive, you see, I didn't like to say no. Of course he
could have been right, couldn't he? Maybe it wasn't dead at all - or
even half dead for that matter - but simply in need of some tender
loving care.
So I took it home, planted it, administered tender loving care and then
awaited signs of revival.
Over the next few days, however, my initial suspicions were confirmed.
I'd bought a dead plant and paid good money for it too. Well what can you
say to that? 'Good Heavens' about sums it up, doesn't it?
(Copy right Patrick Vickery 2002)
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