 > Don't like the look of that poor little Aloe capitata there, though. That bruisey patchiness, so close to the basal area- no bueño. | Oh so now you're going to bring it with the sub-zero bullshit- in the last few days of winter when all the plants are feeling horny and expansive and are busy extruding their delicate private parts. We had a big dump of snow inland and a hill sprinkling hereabouts, which sent a bunch of cold air rolling down the hills onto our arses. I got the frost cloths out in time but there may still be a couple of casualties. < The Red Angel Trumpet datura took it in the face but it'll be fine; I don't think it will even defoliate.  |
Most of you in temperate areas will be looking at these pissy little barely-subzero frost shots and rolling the fuck out of yours eyes in anticipation of the metre of snow headed your way sooner than you care to imagine, summer lovers * Andrew Eldritch laughter* But we're maritime/
mediterranean zone succulent fanciers and this is gratuitous attention-seeking bollocks from a winter that's barely bothered to show up at all.
mediterranean zone succulent fanciers and this is gratuitous attention-seeking bollocks from a winter that's barely bothered to show up at all.
 |  |
In blog content news, I have some sort of weird tonsil/ear tube virusy thing that's going around and fucking with my ability to concentrate, so you might not get much in the way of original output this week. You don't even care because you're out enjoying summer and looking to hook up at the park or the pub or whatever. You're probably checking out someone's arse right now as they walk past you and not even reading this carefully-crafted sentence. So I will go back to bed and suffer in dignified underappreciated silence, consoling myself with hot Olympic musculature and learning the bass part for this song because I can't believe I never have and even though this version doesn't have one.
This might get me burned at the stake but I like the solo version. This song was born to be shrieked over a tape track by a lone pencilneck in sweaty linen and white trainers.
This might get me burned at the stake but I like the solo version. This song was born to be shrieked over a tape track by a lone pencilneck in sweaty linen and white trainers.
RSS Feed
