Lights, Camera, Action....

What a week! On Friday it was tipping down with rain again, but this time we managed to get to a garden centre whose location was actually known to our driver. We bought a damson and a green gage tree---both should be magnificent for both blossom and jam-making fruit. My delight was compounded by finding that back at home my wonderful Peruvian mittens (special offer and sale, The Guardian Newspapers...), AND six Erysimum Constant Cheer had turned up. I don't know if you've heard of these. They are like wallflowers except they are hardy and they have the most magnificent flowers which turn from orange through to purple as the summer progresses. They grow just about anywhere and are as tough as boots. I got them through the shopping channel, QVC, which, I've just discovered, is not to be sniffed at when it comes to plants. Anyway, as I'm sure you all know, Saturday provided us with the most grotty weather imaginable, and I spent all day watching films that I've ordered from 'the sofa cinema'---another Guardian creation and so good for those inclined to depression during these winter months...But I had no time for depression, because today I was called to a major PR event! A hundred of us gathered in one of Cambridge's parks to advertise the fact that our charity is 100 years old, and that it supports one in four of the population that suffer from mental health problems. Guess what we did? We all dressed up in T-shirts---a quarter of which were blue and the rest white. Then we gathered on chairs arranged in the shape of one hundred, while cameramen hoisted on fireengines took our pictures (I kid you not...). It was freezing cold and everything apart from my hands (covered, of course, in my delightful Peruvian gloves) shrivelled up. We had to do it over and over again, sitting down, standing up, looking forward, looking up, hands down, hands up. I never realised how gruelling the life of a top model could be! Afterwards I swanked into one of Cambridge's top restaurants and explained to all and sundry that my slightly over-ethnic appearance was due to 'An absolutely shattering photo-shoot...' before slumping dramatically on one of their designer chairs. Then I had a delicious steak with handcut chips. Oh heaven!

The Sugar Plum Fairy

I knew normality couldn't last. This Friday is was tipping down with rain. After much discussion the group decided to go to a garden centre to pick up a plum and and a damson tree. I thought our leader was in a bit of a funny mood before we started out. As we started off, though, it became apparent he had fallen into a black pit of depression. He started 'f-ing and blinding' and the car soon filled up with a thick fog. At this point it became apparent that he didn't know where the garden centre was, and the only one who did know was sitting in the back seat (with me) and had no idea where we were. I kept asking him to turn on the demisters, but it was now apparent that he didn't know what these were. We kept skidding along, hitting the kerb occasionally. Then we went the wrong way! Our leader went into meltdown and the rest of us had to very gently get him to turn round and put him on the right track again. Finally,we got to the garden centre. The three of us jumped out and literally ran to the entrance---only to find that it was closed because of an electricity cut. Deciding not to make the entire trip a waste of time, I asked the nice man at the door if he could find out if they had plums and damson trees in stock. So he started phoning the other members of staff inside. At this very point our leader turned up and started shouting at the top of his voice, 'I'm not interested in whether they've got any bloody plums or not! Let's go home!' I think by this time all of us realised he had regressed to the level of a four year old. Anway, I got the required information (although at this point I wanted to ask, 'If you had to guess which of us is certifiably mad, who would you chose?') we got back in the car, and headed back. As we got to my house, the leader didn't exactly apologise, but did say he was angry because he'd planned to finish the Victorian hotbed and couldn't because it was raining! Is there such a thing as allotment rage? Answers please!