Saturday, 18 September 2010

Binge gardening

I am not particularly fond of shopping. I enjoy buying a piece of clothing when I like it and it suits me, but I hate wandering around a big store looking for a particular thing and not finding it, and I have never really understood the pleasure of window shopping. I don't understand why anyone would buy yet another pair of shoes when they already have a full wardrobe. There seems to be a scientific term for shoe-buying mania, but I can't find it right now.

I almost never buy souvenirs when I travel. I only buy something if I really, really like it and know what I am going to do with it.

Of course I always buy more books than I need, but that's a professional disease so it doesn't count.

What I cannot resist, however, is garden centres. I can literally spend hours there, just looking, but I can never be satisfied with just looking, so garden centres are dangerous. I always buy more plants than I have space for, and I always buy plants that do not really fit together even though each looks gorgeous separately. I allow myself the luxury with the same arguments I suppose all -holics use: I don't smoke, I don't gamble, I don't buy new clothes every week, so I'll just buy this little nice kala or yet another bag of tulip bulbs, just one more, and then neverm never again...

Yesterday I ended up with eights bags of tulip bulbs and two of crocus and allum and... just one more...

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