Dave

Dave is my flower delivery man. He is the one who regularly double parks in front of the shop when delivering my flowers to me, causing havoc to regular folk just who are just trying to get on with their stuff.

Imagine a conversation thus.

Tetchy person in car whom Dave has totally blocked in: " excuse me, are you going to be long? "

Dave: " bout a couple days, mate " . Chuckle.

He's a bit of a wag.

However, when I need stuff, this is how I ask him ( best to catch him when he's a bit preoccupied or doing something )

Me: Dave?
Him: yes, darlin'... ( did I mention he's also an Essex boy?)
Me: got any logs?
Him: logs? how many ya need?
Me: hmmm, bout twenty?
Him: what they for?
Me: do you care?
Him: not really.
( pause )
Him: when do you need 'em by?
Me: erm, yesterday?
Him: course ( rolls his eyes and shakes head ) leave it with me darlin'.

So, when things like this are left with Dave, he's a bit like the Pony Express. He always gets through. Or is it delivers? He bought himself a dirty great chainsaw ( I DIDN'T make him do it, he's obviously wanted one for a long time )

And these are the fruits of his labours.

I am a lucky girl.

Bootiful flaaas for a bootiful bride

A lady flies into a shop.

'I need a wedding bouquet of red flowers!'

Me: right now?

Her: not quite. I'll get back to you.

And flies out again.

A couple of weeks later....

Her: and a white one for my bridesmaid.

Me: ok.

Her: oh and some buttonholes.

Me: no problem.

Two days before:

Her: shall I have white ribbon with the red flowers and red ribbon with the white flowers or t'other way round. What do you think?

Me: Erm, I quite like the monochromatic look.

Her: yes, you're right. Ok let's do it.

Flies out again.

Sometimes wedding flowers can be as simple and straightforward as the interchange above. I love it.

Crab apples and crocosmia

This weekend's wedding was like a dreamy film sequence. Imagine arriving at an impossibly beautiful Jacobean farmhouse on a beautifully hot day after a meandering drive along the South Coast. The couple, whose flowers we were preparing were drifting around the grounds, having a dip in the pool, shepherding various gorgeous children and generally, just not stressed.

Not that getting married = getting stressed of course but there can inevitably be a little, ahem tension, shall we say.

Not so here. It was like a mini private festival.

And we had back stage passes. Woop, woop!