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No Cigar

As I start this episode of GJ Strachan’s prevailing existence, an angry West Yorkshire breeze is doing it’s damnedest to blow the eight digitalis, which until yesterday stood vertically with sentry-like authority, into the next village. The gusts rendering flaccid the Plantaginaceae, which pre-zephyr proudly patrolled my borders with an upright gait.

Sadly, now these foxgloves have acquired a wind induced slant of 45 degrees. Manifesting the sorry horticultural scene of forlorn looking shrubs which’ve fallen from both grace and the perpendicular.

Even the bamboo stakes, introduced to mitigate against collateral plant damage by gust, are proving inadequate defenders against the meteorological ‘Operation Blast Gary’s Plants into Thorpe Village‘.

Perhaps the objective I set was a remit too far for these narrow woods sticks. Although, they’d possibly argue, as the digitalis are still firmly rooted in the borders, they’ve not as yet failed the delegated task. The bamboo, maybe, defensively refuting such accusatory hooey until the foxgloves finally have lift off!

Also in defence of the wood stakes, the gusts have been so intense over the last twenty four hours, I suspect the East Ardsley tug of war team would’ve had found it onerous to maintain foxglove verticality.

With the shrubs swaying like a pendulum under the breezes volition, witnessing bees attempting to gain digitalis’ flute access to retrieve pollen is a surprisingly addictive spectator sport. I may email Sky Sports later to see if they see potential in creating a Sky Sports Bee Pollination Channel.

Like a car attempting to board a ferry during a strong sea swell, the apidaes patiently hover awaiting their opportunity to enter the target destination.

With the quite vigorous plant swaying, I’m surprised there’s any pollen remaining in the flutes for bees to retrieve. I’d suggest the amber and black hooped insects will’ve significantly greater serendipity locating digitalis pollen on adjacent plants than within foxglove flowers themselves.

I’m impressed that the bees actually bother to venture out today. Flying against a strong headwind at that size must be an exhausting task. It’s bloody hard enough to counter this wind as an adult walking against the prevailing tempestuous gusts, never mind flying in it….. Not that I can fly in any meteorological conditions, I hasten to add!…. I meant the bees.

I’m finding chronicling a minimum of 500 words a day a bit of a challenge at the moment. After all, within this prevailing COVID-19 zeitgeist, which serves the same lukewarm existential fare day after day, topics are rather thin on the ground.

There’s only so much to journal when your existence contains literary sojourns, occasional garden maintenance and cooking tea. Apart from partaking in three quizzes with buddies and injuring my back, like many, for nine weeks I’ve trodden the same well-worn footprints everyday.

I managed to get a few narratives written relating to my back trauma which for four days rendered me with quite significant pain. I get the concept of suffering for your art, that being said, I’m loathed to intentionally injure myself merely to serve up a few days of blog subject matter.

I’ve always backed myself to nurture enough topic epiphanies to quill at least one essay per day. A notion evidenced by, over a five year period, writing and published just shy of 2,000 literary pieces upon my website writesaidfred.com.

Although I retain that self-faith, I’ve the feeling my current work is feasting from the smallest of epiphany scraps. Penning on the subject of bees attempting to retrieve pollen from a digitalis flute may possess a degree of poetry, quenching a readers thirst for romantic prose. That being said, it doesn’t bear a whizz bang notion that makes me laugh loudly while transposing onto parchment.

Consequently, I’m underwhelmed with a portion of my published prose of late. I approve of them enough to post, but I undertake that part of the process burdened with thoughts of  “Well, it was ok, but there’s no cigar!“…… Did ex-US president Bill Clinton once say that, or am I imagining it?!

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