So there is no respite from the R3 Breakfast show on Sundays. This morning we were told that somebody was an under-rated composer, and invited to contact the programme saying whether we agreed, and that somebody else had possibly reinstated the guitar as the equal of the violin or cello. Did we consider this to be the case? Do please let R3 know via their website, and at 8.30am there will be a phone-in. The tough choice facing us this evening between Downton Abbey and Spooks was mentioned (no, I won't be watching either programme) which led clunkily into the intro for a piece of Elgar. Some Mendelssohn was said to be wonderful. I never heard of Clemency Burton-Hill until yesterday, and her chirpy, determinedly let's not be elitist and instead make classical music accessible to the masses tones have already joined those of Ed Balls, Patricia Hewitt (nowadays mercifully silent), David Starkey and Nicholas Parsons introducing Just a Minute, as something to be avoided at almost all costs. Except that the alternative at 7.30 on a Sunday morning driving to work is assorted dreary theologians. And I used to really like R3 first thing on a Sunday. Bother. Indeed B****r.
Work was moderately busy, as was yesterday. Trade overall is rather subdued, and very lumpy. Watering is a challenge as some plants are sopping wet, while others are bone dry. We did our best to cater to each according to its needs, but inevitably some dry pots slipped past us. I had left my wellingtons in the hall at home, which I realised as I got out of the car at work and couldn't find them. Fortunately I avoided watering my feet. I normally do water them, so wonder if there is an element of risk compensation when I have boots on, and if I am more careful when I don't have boots, or any dry shoes to change into. But it might have been a matter of luck, and which lance I had. I have got new Wellingtons, since the left boot of the old ones split over the toe and allowed water to pour in, even just walking through wet grass. The new boots have got rather meaty treads, which seem to pick up a lot of gravel, mud, and anything else that's going.
I finished weeding and tidying the hostas and epimediums, and made a start on the hardy geraniums. It's amazing how quickly they get weedy. I remember doing all of them, not so many weeks ago. It will soon be incorrect to compare weeding them to painting the Forth Bridge, since I saw on the news recently that they have painted that with a new weather resistant paint which is expected to last for ages between applications, so we will have to think of a new cliche. By the end of the working day I had a large circle of mud on my stomach, from resting the bases of pots against it, and back-ache, from working at a bench that is critically too low. My colleagues equally reported back-ache, though we all seemed to have it in different places. I'm a low back sufferer myself.
There have been a lot of regular customers in over the weekend. One of them today (with the ailing brother in London, who is stone deaf without her hearing aids but today she had them in) said how much she enjoyed the whole experience of visiting us. It's good to hear that. The contrasting cases of the two old ladies who called in yesterday is a fascinating study. One of them is tiny, with visible osteoporosis, and is always extremely polite and very grateful for any help. She has charmed all the staff, and gets a great deal of help. If she wants a particular plant and the ones we have in stock are not awfully nice, we will order a few new ones rather than try to flog her an old one, and if she wants anything that might be hidden away behind the scenes we will run and look for her. Her enquiry about plants with particular names, for a memorial garden, sent somebody trotting up to the office to consult the on-line Plantfinder. Beyond being scrupulously polite, she never gives the impression that she wants us to like her. The other old lady is about equally tiny, though less fragile. She has the habit of buying things, taking them home, not liking them when she sees them in situ, and bringing them back. She somehow gives the impression of being lonely, and wanting to be liked, while not always behaving like a proper customer, going and finding her own plants on the reserve bed, and trying to queue jump with queries. The unfortunate result of her apparent neediness plus failure to quite observe the boundaries is that she is not liked, and members of staff try to leave somebody else to serve her. One former colleague was reduced to going and hiding in the staff room.
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