A Bed Of Roses.

Hello Peeps,

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And the top of the morning to you all.

I am lucky enough to have a nice sunny day here myself.

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When I was watering my plants today, and feeding the birds their breakfast of left overs and prawn crackers, I was remembering those long ago, blisteringly hot summer days of my childhood.

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We lived in a small flat near a large and very beautiful public park, which had been left to the town by the original family, who had been lucky enough to own the whole estate.

It was a beautiful place, with long views of ancient trees and a gleaming blue lake where the swans lived.

I am thankful for my luck in living so near to a place of such great beauty, and for the more relaxed attitude to the safety of children in those days, which allowed me to wander around in it freely for so many years.

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Before I was allowed to go there on my own, my mother would frequently take my brother and I out for walks in it.

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We would pick daises to make me daisy chains for my long hair and we would visit the animal place.

There, we would feed the peacocks, rabbits and the various other birds, with the bread that we had left over after feeding the swans.

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Last of all , we would be taken to the formal rose garden, so that Mum could sit down on on one of the many ornate wrought iron and green painted wood benches to have a rest, while we went racing around on the paths and occupied ourselves in various games and explorations.

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The rose beds were stunning, containing many varieties of roses, all beautifully tended by one of the many gardeners employed there.

Sometimes the scent would be so heavy in the air that it was almost unbearable.

I would often be in a state of complete bliss and intoxication with the whole wonderful experience.

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I found the roses particularly compelling when they were new, tight , perfect fat buds, just ready to open and bloom.

Such perfection that it was sometimes painful to look at them.

I think that I felt a need to possess such beauty, to keep it perfect forever, to somehow capture it.

The end result of this need resulted in an insatiable desire to eat the new buds, so I would crouch there picking them off carefully, and then chewing away industriously until I was stuffed.

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This continued for many years, and now I sometimes laugh to think of the poor gardener, suddenly noticing that one of his prize rose bushes had been stripped bare yet again.

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Imagine the poor guy, with his blue cap pushed back, scratching his head in bewilderment, furiously trying to think what sort of bloody annoying insects were continually doing this to his beautiful, and obviously very tasty, plants.

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I cannot imagine how much of his various rose sprays I must have absorbed over the length of my childhood, but I can honestly say that I have never been  personally troubled with infestations of greenfly.

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Ah, those were the days.

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LOL

JX

And yes, I still do it now sometimes, but nothing on such an industrial scale,

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Just a taste .

Honest.

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