B is for...

Brussels sprouts!

What!

For those of you that have just joined us, this is my

alphabetti spaghetti 

reminiscences

of a life well scoffed.

Cough, splutter, croak...

Sprouts?

I have developed over the years an
old Spanish custom of every
Christmas morning, taking great delight in 

floating up to the veg plot 

(read potager - it sounds so much better, what!)

 on a haze of Champagne bubbles.
Picking my sometimes frozen brussels I feel like a bucolic
Marie Antoinette...
'Let them eat sprouts!'

This year for the first time I've missed the boat.
Earlier in the year I didn't buy the plants,
what was I thinking about?
I can hardly say I was busy now can I?
I've never had any success with growing them from seed.
Although I've now rushed out and bought two packets in readiness
for the off next year.

The whole of September found me frequenting
garden centres, walled nurseries,
even B & Q ...

How the mighty have fallen.

I know thought I...
 order some from the Internet.
Brill idea LL, 
then if the order comes back out of stock I will then be 100%
sure that I've missed the boat - big time.
Ploughing through the pages I order loads of things I didn't really
want, just so I can save on postage and avail myself of the three free
snowdrop bulbs!
Seemed like a good idea at the time?
My order is accepted...
money snaffled.
Voila!  Success!
'It worked!'
I sit back in a glow of self-satisfied smugness at just
what a clever clued-up bod I am.

Idly (seem to be doing that a lot lately) I looked at the 
invoice...

Hold tight...

'Seeds and bulbs will arrive at separate times,
the plants will be with you some time in...

April 2013.'

Head in hands, I settle back into the clutches of my settle.
Seeing my dismay, Ted kindly offers to buy a stalk of sprouts,
and late on Christmas eve after his red suit is put away...
to 'plant' them in the garden.

'Nooo!  It won't be the same!'
I plaintively reply.