An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Tuesday, January 03, 2006


Lavender blue, lavender green
When we are king,
Gilly Gilly you will be queen

I been singing this song most of today I have. It's a great one from wayback by a group called Milleniumn and the lead singer was called Cod (or so Ceddie tells me). Don't no where I picked it up but it fitted so I changed it. I kno it was written for a girl called Dilly but I redid the versey bits so's its for Gill now - and she desreves it. She and the Bossman gave us all the best Krissmas we ever did have since we was kids together. Thanx Gill. Thanx Bossman.

We bin bonnying al day since the jew started to dry up as bit. I think I'm pressed the BossMan. I lit the first fire up this morning and even got the second one going in the lite rain that we got this afternoon. All told we must've burnt maybe three quaters of the olive prunings so the farm is looking much neeter now. As we were going backwoods and forwoods to the bonny, dragging the prunings large and small we kept going past Gill where she was sitting in Lav2 pruning the english lavenders. Everytime we went past she'd give us a heads up and flash us that lovely smile of hers. Bossman was a bit slower than me and Ceddie because his leg was playing up again but he did good anyway. At he finish he was limping like old man Gladden up the road from us but he didn't give up. His house had mushrooms groweing on the walls when he died.

Thinking about Gladden, he had a wooden leg from the war he did, reminded me and Ceddie of Sonny Hesketh and we had a good laugh about that episode together round the bonny. Canvey bleeding Island! A shit hole under water. Like a dirty Holland crouching under a huge sea wall. Later on the miserable ole sod from next door came out and started ranting about the bonnies and chucking his weight around like a big ole bully. He live on a farm for God sake what he expect? I was all for going up an lumping him one when he start to threaten the Boss but everyone say no so I didn't. I got to forget it they say. Tell you what though he threaten me I going to teach him some effing manners like Joe used say.

Footnote1 (FarmBoy): The story Ediie is talking about is when we were kids and mum was hard up. She wanted to give us a holiday but she didn't have any money. And then she saw an advert in the small ads of the local paper where some geyser was offering holidays in the country to boys who would help do his garden. Well, the countryside turned out to be Canvey Island and anyway because we were used to gardening we were packed off to him for a fortnight in the school holidays - bed and board and ten bob a week for us! Alarm bells went off when he met us off the bus - he was a bit grubby and a bit creepy. When we get back to his place it's like a shed in a jungle. The weeds in the front garden are like head high on us. And the back garden - don't even ask! Inside the place smelt of piss and mildew - even with he windows open. The karzie was filthy and the bath was black. To cut a long .... turns out the old boy is a pederast and it took me about 3 hours to work that one out. Scummy little creep is looking for a catamite but me and Eddie ain't up for that. We did some work in the wilderness while I was working out how to light out of there but by the next day I had our plan. So, when he goes out to the shops I rummage through the drawers and tins looking for cash while Eddie packs and hangs around outside - bags packed and ready for action. He's keeping cavey and I'm ransacking the place looking for our bus fares home and a little compensation - if you know what I mean. Anyways, I uncover some cash and we're away. Free and clear. We get to the gate - a ramshackle affair with a broken hasp - and Eddie asks for a fag. I hand him the baccy and the matches and before I know what's occurring he's off up the path like a rat up a drain pipe, a burning book of matches in his hand, he gets to the front porch and slings it. And then he's back on his way to as fast or faster than he went and he's waving me away. The place went up like tinder! Serve the dirty ole pervert right. Never told anyone that - until now.

Footnote2 (Bossman): What Eddie can do with a single match and a cube of fire lighter is almost beyond belief. Did I not know better I would suspect that he had, at some, stage been a professional fire lighter or else a gifted amateur arsonist (FarmBoy assures me that this is not so although the tale about Mr Hesketh tends me to opine otherwise). Aren't all arsonists amateur? The way he can move the centre or heart of a conflagration is an art all in itself and I have nothing but admiration for his pyromaniacal skills.

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