I get my sense of humour from my Dad. He has also always loved roses, as do I.
I found myself driving Dad out to the beautiful surroundings of Wimpole Hall, and when there we chatted and walked, taking in the farm and most importantly for this story, the Walled Garden. Within are vegetables, flowers and various plants, all magnificent and carefully tended. Dad approves. We smelled the roses – glorious, and Dad leant in, almost theatrically, to get a good nose-full of the aroma – we both loved Rosa Roundelay, if I recall. He even made a joke when we got to the fuchsias, wondering why, if I could see the fuchsia, why I hadn’t told him about it!
Then came the bit that was less fun. He didn’t recognise a geranium. My Dad (who taught me so much) even when I told him, had no idea what a geranium was. He did know that Grandma and his eldest granddaughter, my daughter, were also having a day out, and every five or six minutes commented that he hoped they were having fun (it turns out they were). Then came the food. We ordered similar things, in fact, almost exactly the same, and sat together. ‘What have you got there?’ would be what he would describe as a daft question if he were me … I didn’t say that, of course, simply explaining what I had on my plate. We got up and ordered a pudding, and when we turned round, with his hat still on the table, 20 feet away, he had no idea where we were sat. But he’s still my Dad.
Then the humorous moment (though unintentional) – we were sat with our backs towards (but not against) a wall, and a lady of rather larger proportions walked behind him. In a voice far too loud, he commented “I thought there were three of them trying to get past” – so he’s lost a large chunk of his famed discretion too 🙂 He’s still my Dad.