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The Geranium Blether
I saw Bob Dylan last summer, a sprightly looking chap for his age. I didn�t meet him in person of course, no, no, afraid not, but saw him in concert at Stirling castle. Bob �the stuff legends are made of� Dylan strutting about in a skin tight suit in front of 7000 adoring fans. Some of them were grannies too, you know, and what energy they possessed, hip-hop folk from another musical era.
�I�m a granny, you know,� screeched a youthful pensioner in delight as she twirled past us to the doleful sounds of �himself� singing �Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.� He did well, too, for a man of his age, sixty and still going strong.
Now I think Bob likes his garden, he could be a gardening man, you know, that song of his, �Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands�, has a bit about geraniums in it, a Geranium Kiss of all things, could be an indoor plant man perhaps, and one with a particular penchant for Pelargoniums? I must ask him sometime. Well I might, you know, I just might, although it�s not easy to get in touch with such an iconic figure as Bob for a chat about gardening these days, is it? No, no, certainly not - not in such times of cult superstardom anyway.
�Do you like your geraniums then, Bob?� I might say. �And how do you propagate yours?�
�Most likely you grow your way and I�ll grow mine,� he might say. (Or was it �Most likely you go your way and I�ll go mine.� I�m not sure. I must look it up. On the album anyway, Blonde on Blonde).
You never know though, he might like the occasional blether about horticultural matters, mightn�t he? It�s not inconceivable.
Now after picking up on Bob�s reference to geraniums I wondered whether anyone else waxed lyrical about the gardening side of things? (Didn�t Tina Turner sing about a Nut Bush? I�m sure she did).
There�s a castle near here, you know, not far from Dornoch, a sort of exclusive guest house concept for the rich and famous, the sort of establishment that Bob might frequent, short breaks away from the hurly-burly of busy life, celebrity weddings, that sort of thing. I can be out in the garden, you know, pottering about, a spot of weeding, taking cuttings, that sort of thing, when a low-flying helicopter �whizzes� past en-route to the castle. Film stars, Rock stars, Presidents, Kings, they�ve all seen me. Well I think so anyway, and I always wave, make a point of it.
Now once a year the castle is open to the public, just the estate grounds, in aid of charity, a summer fete to raise money for good causes, and so we set off after lunch - the whole family - for a pleasant afternoon of meandering amidst shrubberies and glasshouses. We always check out the new plantings too, to see which guests, if any, have planted a tree or a shrub to mark their visit.
Now occasionally, just occasionally, mind, if the opportunity presents itself, I might have a furtive peer through one of the ground floor windows in the hope of catching sight of somebody famous. Never spotted anybody yet, of course, not really, although just possibly � there�s a slim chance - I may have seen that guy who used to advertise fish fingers on the television, �Captain Bird�s Eye�, that was his name, but I may be wrong.
One year perhaps they�ll have Mick Jagger on teas (�Brown sugar with your cuppa?�) or Bob �the stuff legends are made of� Dylan in the glasshouse tending to the geraniums. Now that would be a summer fete with a difference, wouldn�t it?
Anyway, Bob Dylan or no Bob Dylan, it�s certainly a pleasant way to spend a leisurely afternoon
(Copyright 2003 Patrick Vickery)
History of the Garden Blether. Written in the Scottish Highlands, read all over the world.