Titanarum

Today I was asked if it was my bin in photo shown in the ‘Fresia Friend’ post The questioner used to be a friend but, as I divulge our conversation, I’m sure you’ll understand why this person is now merely an acquaintance.

‘You don’t compost vegetable leftovers and newspapers?’

‘I compost what I please when I please’ I replied. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’

‘I thought you had turned over a new leaf?  What with the council giving you free recycling boxes and you having no less than three 100 litre containers?’

‘Yeah. And your point is?’

 ‘That you aren’t practicing what you preach.’

How dare this person, whom I shan’t bother to give a gender, claim the moral high ground? I’m not having it. Doesn’t it suffice that I watched Hugh’s Chicken Run and Jamie’s Fowl Dinners and no longer eat battery chicken (not even in take-aways and ready meals, apart from now and again)? What more does the world want?

‘We all have a responsibility to the planet and to future generations. And you, of all people, ought to know it.’

I couldn’t bear it. With no answer to offer I did the only thing I could: hung up.

You know the packets of seeds that have ‘Giant, Super size and Exhibition’ written on banners across them? Who’d buy them? Who’d rate size higher than taste? People like Mr. W would. He’s already sowed his humongous onions and mile long leeks in his electrically heated and humidity controlled mini greenhouse. I ran into him the other day. A lovely fella in the autumn of his life. Always up for a chat, a smile and a wink. But behind the friendly exterior lurks a doggedly determined perfectionist. The straightness of his rows is legendary. And as for his weeding I am struggling for words. They don’t grow on his patch. Handpicking the seeds that fly in from neighbouring plots they never have a chance to sprout. And as for runner beans the only word that comes to mind is uniform. The man is truly awesome. And that is why for 30 odd years he has taken first prize in every single vegetable he has cared to grow. Nobody in their right mind would aspire to more than a silver medal if Mr W has entered his produce. I, of course, am a taste person. What care I if a bean is bent or a leek stumpy? Still, I salute  you, Mr W.