I’ve been desperate to tell you about a funny little occurrence that happened on Tuesday but which I couldn’t reveal until today for reasons that will become obvious in the telling.

Now you probably remember that Tuesday was my birthday, and a lovely birthday it was in spite of the rotten weather (and aside from the matter of my being another year older). I can’t remember ever receiving so many cards before, or having so many visitors, or well wishes by telephone, email, Facebook, or heavenly herald (just kidding). Of course, we had practically all the family over for a small send off for my sister Mary, who was departing for Australia later on that evening, and it was my niece’s birthday also. All in all, regardless of the contributing reasons for my new-found popularity, I felt like a celebrity; but this is by the by, to set the scene (and so you’ll know for my next birthday) – I really want to tell you about the flowers…

One beautiful basket of roses and daisies arrived by Interflora the previous day – a perfect confection of pinks, white and yellow – and was not in the slightest bit funny. The second bouquet arrived with our friend David on the day, whilst most of my family were still here and I was rather occupied.

“I know I don’t normally bring flowers,” he said, looking first at Chris, then me, “but I saw the roses and thought you’d like them.”

“How lovely!” I said, taking the huge bouquet and, without studying the flowers, placing them on the kitchen table. “I’ll pop them into a vase when everyone has gone.”

Well, when everyone had gone I turned my attention to the bouquet and brought down three various vases (in case one might have been better than another). The flowers were a particularly long-stemmed bunch, and some of the stems were rather thick aswell; in fact, some of them looked like long cabbage stalks. What do you know? They were cabbage stalks – at the end of each long stem was a cabbage. Not a rose in sight! I believe they are called ornamental cabbages, quite attractive in a pale green, miniature cabbage sort of way, but definitely not to rival roses. Chris and I had a laugh about those cabbages; he sat down at the table and watched me struggle to cut the stout stalks with the large kitchen scissors.

“Shall I get the secateurs?” he inquired, making for the door.

“Or a hacksaw?” I suggested and the scissors closed successfully at last. And Chris sat back down and watched me repeat the action several times to his great amusement.

I had to divide the flowers into two vases: one a white jug, broad enough around the rim to accommodate the three enormously thick stalks bearing the small, but pretty (for cabbages) cabbages and a twig of copper beech and some vines; whilst the other was a taller, glass vase for the yellow chrysanthemums and orange gerberas. The latter were pretty and went in the hallway but I thought I’d keep the vase of cabbages on the kitchen table for David’s benefit, considering that he was going to join us for lunch on Friday.

David came to lunch today as planned and, after we had eaten the delicious soup he had brought with him (that’s how to treat guests!), Chris pointed to the white jug filled with cabbages and said:

“Sally has something to tell you…”

“Oh yes, I nearly forgot…” I began. “Do you remember telling me that you saw the roses and thought that I would like them?” I touched one of the miniature white cabbages.

“Yes,” he looked at the cabbage and laughed. “Are these my roses?”

I nodded.

“Well these are better than roses,” David giggled, “because, not only do you have a laugh, you might be able to eat them afterwards!”

Oh David, you should have gone to Spec Savers!

(David was one my spy models when I was on my photography course – his name was Mr.Magoo, but that’s another story.)