The Geranium Does Graphics.

I decided to introduce my four new geranium plants to their garden home today. They were still in their pots, of course, and so I placed two of them in the space I’d made to the left, and the other two in the space to the right. I moved them around a bit so they had maximum distance from the other plants, and then turned to fetch my trowel. I heard a small, thin voice behind me.

‘Hey, you,’ it said quietly but clearly.

I turned around half expecting a fairy visitation, but there was nothing with wings and smiley faces to be seen anywhere.

‘Down here,’ continued the voice.

I followed the sound and was forced to conclude that there was nothing in the immediate vicinity except one of the geraniums.

‘Are you talking to me?’ I asked.

‘Of course I’m talking to you. Who else would I be talking to? The fairies? Do you see any fairies?’

‘No.’

‘Right then, so listen: You’re getting it wrong. Don’t you know anything about plant graphics?’

‘Plants have graphics?’

‘Of course plants have graphics. Everything has graphics.’

‘So what’s wrong with the graphics? Two that side, two this. What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is, numbskull, that plants don’t respond too well to either symmetry or the rectilinear persuasion. We like to stick together and we like curves. You should place us in a line which curves around the back of that bunch of stuff there, finishing in front of those guys with the yellow bells.’

One of its leaves waved in the direction of the guys with yellow bells. I expect it was the wind.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘OK, if you say so. But there’s a problem.’

‘What?

‘The space I cleared on the right will be empty. It won’t look right.’

‘So put something else there.’

‘Like what?’

‘How should I know? You’re the gardener.’

‘I noticed last week that they have dwarf lupins in Homebase.’

‘So get a dwarf lupin from Homebase.’

‘OK. Tomorrow.’

‘Yay!’ said four quiet but clear little voices in unison.

And so I followed the geranium’s instruction and transferred all four from their pots, placed them nicely into four neatly dug holes – lovingly reinforced with fresh peat – and watered them in. And do you know what? They didn’t even say ‘thank you.’ Seems there’s no pleasing geraniums.

Tomorrow I might tell the story of the shop assistant called Dolores. (Or was it Abigail?) Then again, I might not.