Recently, I bumped into one of my lovely neighbours as I left my place.
“Hello,” she said as brightly as ever.
There followed the usual preamble that passes between two neighbours who have that neighbourly relationship. Soon, however, my neighbour had steered the conversation onto gardening, our shared passion, and I fell for her cunning scheme, hook line and sinker.
“Do you know the little garden centre come nursery out near Tetbury?” she enquired, all sweetness and light. I said I didn't. “It's owned by Prince Charles. It's having to shut down. Not making any money.”
I showed surprise that something with his name on it should have to fold.
“Everything's being sold of really cheaply, but I doubt you need anything for your lovely little garden” she chirped.
Why dip in a toe when you can plunge right up to your ears? So I plunged, “There's always something I want for my garden. I think I'll get myself over there sooner rather than later,”
“Oh, well, I don't suppose, if you're going, you could give me a lift, could you?”
Well, what could I say?
Yes!
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