The Door, written by Magda Szabó, is a post-war story about a woman’s relationship with her housekeeper, of whom the narrator says, “One can tell instinctively what sort of flower a person would be if born a plant, and her genus certainly wasn’t the rose, with its shameless carmine unfolding – the rose is no … Continue reading Hello Petal
I stood on the edge of a carpet of decaying roses in the middle of July of this year, which was, I think, around six weeks after they had been laid down. What amazed me was how long the flowers were lasting; that is to say, how they were still offering something to be enjoyed … Continue reading Decay
Come on, remove that petulant pout, suppress that cynical mutter of, “valentine-schmalentine” and admit that, deep down, you love it too. Who cares if it has become overly commercialised? Hasn't everything? So drop the Hallmark-hate, stop boycotting bouquets, and quit with the sudden intolerance for chocolate. As for being single? So what? I’m single and I still … Continue reading Valentine-Schmalentine
Oh boy, are the roses ever good this year. They loved the prolonged blast of sun we had at the end of May and onto into June. Friends from Kent, York and Ireland all sent me photographs from their gardens: pink, yellow and white blooms, as full and buxom as Gina Lollobrigida. It made me … Continue reading It’s Been A Good Year For The Roses
My Edinburgh Press 