I have to confess that the most unromantic gift I have been given to date is a wheelbarrow.
Whilst my husband is a keen gardener with a miraculous ‘green thumb’, I am not. Truth to tell, my house plants persistently wither, and the weeds in my ornamental gardens consistently thrive. I confess that on one memorable occasion I ignored expert advise and encouraged a ‘lovely wee
fern’ that subsequently grew into a towering Nikau Palm, which looks most unusual in the landscaped corner garden.
I suffer horribly from hay fever brought about by pollen and grass, am allergic to bee-stings and really hate dirt. My idea of a romantic gift is dinner for two and tickets to a concert. As we have been married for 20 plus years, I naively believed my husband had come to understood my funny
However, I got my own back. On my husband’s birthday that year I gave him a delicate lace-edged camisole and French-cut knickers set that by
coincidence fit me perfectly.
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