I have a nemesis, a type, a breed, a certain horticultural creature that puts fear into my soul. I have probably only met a handful but they loom large in my conscientiousness and even larger in my subconscious. These are the ladies (always) that bark Latin names and sneer, the ones that metaphorically (usually) pat you on the head, who “stage whisper” criticisms and bustle off with a backward glance of disappointment on their sour faces. Fortunately most of our visitors are well mannered, knowledgeable and curious. These guests are varied and variable. We have had visits from the upper echelons of the horticultural establishment (lost obviously) who have been generous and charming. Our day to day visitors are often well informed and appreciative and whilst some needlessly apologise for ignorance some are just content to enjoy the view. All are welcome as long as they are well behaved and don’t pat me on the head.
You do however get the occasional visitor who sticks their head through the middle of a medlar tree. This eventuality was not covered in The Manual.
It was a treat to meet The Pot Lady and Hubby today, great fun and a pleasure to meet you at last. WB Yeats wrote “There are no strangers, only friends you have not met yet.” I’m with him on that one.