The Crocus

WEll, I have been very proud of my garden and its continual blooming. Indeed, I have been so proud that Maffi has been issued with a torch each night to inspect said blooms in fine detail, and I have sat back and sapped up the praise for my green fingers. Credit to the guy, he has been exceptionally keen and asked me how my crocus is, and even got excited when there was a new on budding. The encouragement to my new found green fingers has been so great I was quite sure that I was the mooring chief in the garden department.

That was until we were on Balmaha the other day enjoying an evening of natter, and the topic of gardens came up. Being the self centred, self pedestal, self praised garden goddess I was I just KNEW I was the all expert on the topic - after all my crocus is genius. Maffi praised my garden, then the attention turned to his garden. I recall it being full of twigs and I inwardly gfawed and posied my self with my top tips of gardening. In fact, it came to light that for some time now he has had two bright in-yer-face daffodils bobbing around in his garden waiving gleefully across the mooring at my struggling crocus (the thing still hasn't opened up). The daffodils have been singing gleefully and declaring MORNING with such vigour I am amazed I didn't notice.

Now, to admire my crocus and not mention the daffodils IS friendship.

Cheers Maff!