A spattering of Eastern Europe invade England by ghosting past our immigration controls in search of the goodies we provide.
Others have tried the conventional warfare method...some did okay and others just embarrassed themselves.
Now most of us can lay claim to a bloody and shameful past, but what I see in my front garden takes the biscuit. I'm really worried.
Not content with using the direct up front approach which can be seen as an obvious assault which, I can assure you, can be repelled, but they are preparing the way slowly, silently and sneakily to invade without mercy at grass roots level.
I speak of the Spanish bluebell.
In our back garden we have the paler delicate English variety, trembling at the prospect of the ruthless, sturdy, strong pretender in the front garden flexing its muscles and ready to pounce.
The battle lines are well defined, there is a military strategy in place. Today the 9th of May is the day war has been declared and hostilities will commence after breakfast and shopping (I'm off to get the chainsaw).
Three hours later...
Actually, the real battle was in the hallway...I gave it a right pasting, but once I'd made up good ground with the decorating I visited the front line to see what we were up against. To my horror I saw the two varieties slogging it out side by side and Bev either a prisoner or fraternizing with the enemy
You know, I think I actually prefer the towering, stronger coloured and broader leafed Spanish bluebell. Ours look quite pathetic in comparison. I do believe I'm captivated. Perhaps we'll encamp the pathetic Brits out of sight in the back and allow the true blues to shine and smile up front.
Bev's done a good job making them look good as well as digging out the docks and trimming the lawn.
I think she'll always be a prisoner to the garden and, although it's a life of hard labour it's also quite liberating.
All is well in the garden of life and peace reigns supreme.
The English...
The Spanish...
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