Once a year the clocks go back, which means I get an extra hour in bed!!

Sunday is the only day of the week where the sun gets up before me, but there are still things I need to be getting on with, including the occasional Sunday delivery.

I don’t need an alarm clock. Once I’ve finally dropped to sleep, I’m usually woken by quacking ducks, a crowing cock or an incontinent Jack Russell, but no one told them the clocks were going back an hour, so this morning John had to get up while I went back to my dream.

Once I’m awake, I’m up. I’m not actually very good at lying in, so those precious extra minutes when I’m fast asleep, dreaming that George Clooney really was the shop’s delivery driver  is like an early Christmas.

So, what’s been going on in the Flower Shop this week?

Well, I’ve been putting my foot in my mouth more than normal. Everyone knows I like to chat and a polite ‘Hello‘, ‘Good morning‘ or ‘Afternoon‘ is never enough. I want those who come into the shop to feel welcome and at home, which means I can sometimes be a little over-familiar.

My over familiarity sometimes lands me in hot water. Imagine, someone I’ve never met before walks into the shop. Before I can utter a single word, my mind goes into overdrive…Who could this be, what might they be coming in for, what mood might they be in, are they married, do they have children, what are their interests, what might we have in common?

So when a middle-aged, smartly dressed lady came through the door, before anyone could stop me, out came “You’re looking very Teresa May this morning”

Everyone in the shop, including this poor bewildered lady, stopped and glared at me. I could tell by the blank looks on all their faces, that they had no idea what was going through my mind, even I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Your shoes” I  blurted out.

“They’re a bit like ones Teresa May wore once” 

Everyone looked at each other.

“Very stylish” I said as if it was blinking obvious to anyone and everyone.

Worse is when men come into the shop. Most of you will know I’m a terrible flirt and I get all silly whenever a gent walks in. I never know what to say so I tend to say whatever comes into my head, then tie myself in knots trying to explain what I meant by whatever came out.

A young man came in this week to buy a bouquet, presumably for a young lady. I started with “I went to a Genesis Tribute Band, in Brighton, last week” and ended with “She always makes my boobs look uneven.”

In between my opening line and parting statement, we covered transexual literary fiction, housewife pornography, getting engaged at seventeen, moving to Yorkshire and prog-rock bands of the seventies.

You should have seen him back out of the shop as soon as Claire2 had finished his bouquet. I’m sure he started to run the moment he got through the door.

He was probably keen to leave before he fell for my wily charm and infectious personality.

 

 

    Some of the gorgeous bouquets created and delivered this week.