The Story of Freddie Lovage
crossposted from Lee Edward McIlmoyle's blog
Freddie Lovage wasn’t your average Lothario. Most rakes will work over any bit of lawn or garden they come across, but not Freddie, no. He liked to take his time, explore the scenery, and get to the root of the subject. Yes, you guessed it: Freddie was into vegetation in a big way, (or so I’m told. I confess, I didn’t look. I’m more partial to watching the skies).
Many was the night when he could be found rolling naked on a cool grassy knoll, or spending a sunny afternoon dandling dandelions on the his knee, anointing them in his special sunflower seed oil, and generally making an awful mess of things.
Then one fine day, he spied a pussy-willow bush and knew he had to have it, and off he went to woo the poor thing. It didn’t end well, as it turns out that pussy-willows are particularly fickle, making short work of him, and before long, Freddie was picking twigs and sticky bits from his watering hose.
Never one to give up easily, Freddie was soon back dallying in the garden of earthy delights, and soon found himself hip deep in a bush of a different colour; rose red, and it was evidently contagious, as with every thrust of his garden trowel, more rosy red rubbed off, until he was covered in cuts from head to foot.
As he laid patiently in the hospital awaiting his eventual recovery, Freddie noticed with some fascination a setting of daisies that had been delivered to cheer him up, and they surely did. The nurse screamed in alarm when she found him mounting the collapsing nightstand, after which she had herself transferred to a different wing for the remainder of his extended stay.
Upon Freddie’s discharge, he decided to turn over a new leaf, buying himself a bonsai tree, which he told all of his herpetology friends he would mold into the perfect companion. When he was invited to exhibit his potted project, many gasps and no few guffaws were heard when they came to realise what he had meant. Extraordinarily, the fertilizer he had used (frequently and liberally) had caused the bonsai to grow to an enormous size in a prodigiously short period of time. When asked why he had chosen such an unusually pleasing, womanly shape, he admitted he had developed a yen to see how the other half lived, but had come away disillusioned, deciding to give up tree trimming and take up farming.
There he came upon a patch of melons, and the corn was always well-fertilized. Sadly, he couldn’t turn a profit, even after he took to selling his prized yams in darkened alleys for a few pounds a piece, and finally he kicked it in the squash and turned to floral arranging, which doesn’t give him the same yield, but it pays the bills.
He eventually wrote his memoirs, which became a best seller, entitled, “Love’s Labours Lost and Found”. It’s a bittersweet tale, and it goes like this.
© 2012 Lee Edward McIlmoyle
with thanks to Messrs Gabriel and Collins
Freddie Lovage wasn’t your average Lothario. Most rakes will work over any bit of lawn or garden they come across, but not Freddie, no. He liked to take his time, explore the scenery, and get to the root of the subject. Yes, you guessed it: Freddie was into vegetation in a big way, (or so I’m told. I confess, I didn’t look. I’m more partial to watching the skies).
Many was the night when he could be found rolling naked on a cool grassy knoll, or spending a sunny afternoon dandling dandelions on the his knee, anointing them in his special sunflower seed oil, and generally making an awful mess of things.
Then one fine day, he spied a pussy-willow bush and knew he had to have it, and off he went to woo the poor thing. It didn’t end well, as it turns out that pussy-willows are particularly fickle, making short work of him, and before long, Freddie was picking twigs and sticky bits from his watering hose.
Never one to give up easily, Freddie was soon back dallying in the garden of earthy delights, and soon found himself hip deep in a bush of a different colour; rose red, and it was evidently contagious, as with every thrust of his garden trowel, more rosy red rubbed off, until he was covered in cuts from head to foot.
As he laid patiently in the hospital awaiting his eventual recovery, Freddie noticed with some fascination a setting of daisies that had been delivered to cheer him up, and they surely did. The nurse screamed in alarm when she found him mounting the collapsing nightstand, after which she had herself transferred to a different wing for the remainder of his extended stay.
Upon Freddie’s discharge, he decided to turn over a new leaf, buying himself a bonsai tree, which he told all of his herpetology friends he would mold into the perfect companion. When he was invited to exhibit his potted project, many gasps and no few guffaws were heard when they came to realise what he had meant. Extraordinarily, the fertilizer he had used (frequently and liberally) had caused the bonsai to grow to an enormous size in a prodigiously short period of time. When asked why he had chosen such an unusually pleasing, womanly shape, he admitted he had developed a yen to see how the other half lived, but had come away disillusioned, deciding to give up tree trimming and take up farming.
There he came upon a patch of melons, and the corn was always well-fertilized. Sadly, he couldn’t turn a profit, even after he took to selling his prized yams in darkened alleys for a few pounds a piece, and finally he kicked it in the squash and turned to floral arranging, which doesn’t give him the same yield, but it pays the bills.
He eventually wrote his memoirs, which became a best seller, entitled, “Love’s Labours Lost and Found”. It’s a bittersweet tale, and it goes like this.
© 2012 Lee Edward McIlmoyle
with thanks to Messrs Gabriel and Collins