What are the chances of there being two weddings on farms within a 500 yard radios of each other? What are the chances of a florist going to the wrong one?
At the first security check I had doubts. Waived through the electic gates, down the heated drive, past the two pools. A second security check. And doubts as to who I was. I’m a florist clearly. I’m sat in a van with my company name on the side of it. What do you mean you’ve never heard of me. Don’t you know I’m a world famous florist? And then the dawning realisation of the possibility of being in the wrong place. Hey, their loss. My sunflower sensations were awesome.
It was the home of a multimillionaire. Glad I found the field I was looking for and the traditional tentpole marquee. I know which I’d rather have for my wedding. Honestly you could feel the tension at the other wedding. The army of gardeners on a time limit to get everything sorted.
A hunk of pig. I don’t eat it. So it was slow cooked and Mrs F and a friend tucked in. There was crumble too. But having the pooch somehow drains time. So no time to go picking. Instead organic pears and brazil nuts. Make it up as you go along.
Clematis Mrs Cholmondley. Love her. Love the maple syrup too. Guilty pleasure.
And I promise not to bombard you with pictures of Queenie, but you’ll have to bear with me until the novelty of the 6am whining wears off. Enjoy the sunshine peeps.