The return of Greg The Florist.
Greg sighed, then quickly plastered the smile back on his
face as Mrs Hildebrand turned back to him, and pointed to the first bouquet
again.
"Yes, I think that scheme, but without the lilies.
Perhaps the Camellia instead – the white ones."
"Yes, of course," Greg was willing to agree to
anything. The woman had taken forever to decide on the bouquets, and he still
had a lot of work to do on flowers for a wedding the next day.
"Or perhaps…" she began.
Greg rolled his eyes, and when the phone rang he leapt at
the chance to get away.
"Terribly sorry," he said, smiling, and headed to
the desk to answer the call.
"Hello, Back to the Fuschia'," he answered,
watching as Mrs Hildebrand made yet another circuit of the small shop.
"Oh, hi. Is that, um, is that Greg?" the voice on
the other end asked.
"Yeah, speaking," he said, praying she wouldn't
pick the Jasmine flowers.
"Hi. It's John. From the other day, I don't know if
you..."
Greg's entire attention shifted dramatically, and he smiled.
"Yeah, John, hey. Glad you called."
There was a pause on the line. "Really?" John
asked.
"Absolutely. Look, are you free tonight? Well, this
evening. I mean, well, now, really – I don't suppose you are, are you?"
There was another pause, and Greg shook his head at himself.
'Way to go. Play it cool. Fantastic, Gregory. Idiot.'
"Um, I am, actually, yeah. Should I…shall I come to the
shop?"
Greg tucked the phone inbetween his shoulder and ear,
clasped his hands together and sent a quick message of thanks to which deity
might be listening. "That would be…fantastic. I'll be here."
It was only about half an hour later – Mrs Hildebrand
thankfully having made a decision and left – that the bell over the door rang
again.
John stepped inside, an uncertain smile on his face.
Greg beamed. "You have no idea how pleased I am to see
you," he said.
John's own smile widened.
"Now, you can tell me I'm a total piss-taker, but…would
you like an afternoon seeing if you like the job? I mean, I'll pay you…I
just…well, you would be my fucking saviour, I'm telling you."
John nodded, rolled up his sleeves and walked over to the
counter. "Tell me what you want me to do."
Greg paused for a moment, thoughts crowding into his head.
Most of them x-rated.
"Uh…just…watch me, and see how you get on."
Two hours, four mugs of tea and a lot of laughter later,
there were two trays filled with corsages, boutonniers and table centres, all
ready for the wedding the next day.
Greg looked John in the eye.
"Thank you. Thank you so much. I seriously would have
been sunk without your help. Now, the very least I can do is buy you dinner and
a pint down the road at The Cock Inn. If you're up for it, of course."
John smiled, and said…
(Back home - again - soon, Danger. Anything we need?)
39 comments:
Are you working on being especially wonderful today just to cheer me up? Because it's working, thank you. No, we don't need anything, just you.
The Cock Inn...oh god...
Are you suggesting I'm not especially wonderful every day? (Don't answer that. I am painfully aware of the answer.)
And glad you don't need anything, because I'm locking the bike up as we speak. write. whatever.
The Cock Inn is a perfectly normal pub name! I could have gone with The Fawcett Inn. Or The Spread Eagle.
And there's a lovely whisky pub over near Kings cross called Filthy McNasty's.
You've been to all of them, haven't you? I bet you have a list. What was yours called, the one you worked at? Only don't tell me if it had a perfectly normal name, not sure I could cope with the disappointment.
You can be (and are) wonderful nearly every day, but you can't be especially wonderful every day, or I'd have no basis for comparison.
Do you mean the club/bar place with the..er...discerning clientele?
Look, do you want an argument on who's the most wonderful? Because you'd win, hands down. YOU are wonderful. Full stop.
And you make every day of my life special.
Yes, that one! Unless there are other establishments you've worked at with absurd names, which case, those too.
...I love you. Thank you again for the flowers. They're amazing.
It was horribly cheesy and embarrassing and unoriginal. I can only excuse it by saying it was the 80s. And the guy who owned it thought he was hilarious. You'll have to see if you can persuade me.
The pub near where I grew up was called The Dumb Post (no idea why though.)
Try not to break these ones with your head, right? I don't mind buying more flowers. But I can't buy you a new head.
Hmmm. I'll work on that. And I'll never forget the Dumb Post after your fabulous band flyer.
I can say with near 100% certainty that I won't break these with my head - barring freak accidents. And I've got a hard head - as I've now explained to any number of people at Tesco and random strangers on the street.
Ugh, I'd forgotten about that.
So strangers are chatting you up in the street and you're telling them about your hard bits? I definitely need some time off to chaperone you.
Ha! You must be feeling better.
Because I want to act all caveman and beat anyone who comes near you with a club and drag you off to my cave by your hair?
Or because you're reading smut into my perfectly innocent comments?
Both? By perfectly innocent comments, I assume you mean the sharply rising level of innuendo...which I just typed as innunudeo. You're clearly having an effect on me.
I'd love to have the effect of getting you in the nudeo.
in fact, hang on, let me just have a quick check here...
Yup, you're right, I am clearly having an effect on you. Making you an...upright citizen. Standing firm in the face of innuendo. Rigid when assaulted with an onslaught of smut.
it can't be rising that much if it wasn't inyouenndo.
Rider - i can assure you his end is rising.
I begin to suspect a connection between motorbike riding and filthy minds. Maybe I'll do a paper.
Maybe I'll do a paper.
Well, if you have to do a biker as research to doing a paper...make sure it's me, and not my learned companion here.
(No offence, Rider. but he's all mine.)
We are going to get a blow by blow account of his rising interest?
I'm not sure he'd be up for that, Rider...
And he's always telling the boys that it's rude to speak with your mouth full. So I don't want to raise his ire, as well as his...well, enough said.
He might punish me. Send me to my room. Whatever would I do to amuse myself?
...Oh my god. You are both completely ridiculous. There will be no accounts of any sort of rising, thank you!
Look at that...in three hours I've gone from 'wonderful' to 'ridiculous'.
Are you feeling a little touchy? highly strung? Sensitive? Crotchy? Teste? I mean...Crotchety? Testy?
Wonderfully ridiculous, then. I never thought I'd be so relieved to see someone making dirty jokes.
The best way not to speak with your mouth full is to make sure that you've swallowed everything properly before you open your mouth.
But if John does decide that you need to learn a lesson - and no amount of arse-licking or begging on your knees will persuade him - then I suppose you're just going to have to think hard about what you've done.
I don't make dirty jokes. I say perfectly reasonable things, your mind twists them.
Nameless - Believe me, I am thinking very hard. Painfully hard. I am prostrate before him.
All right, you. The boys are asleep, and I'd say it's time for bed, yeah?
I thought you'd never ask.
Get your amazing body in that bed.
that last bit just made me blush. damn.
I'm carefully tiptoeing around all the rampant innuendo to say that this - Greg tucked the phone inbetween his shoulder and ear, clasped his hands together and sent a quick message of thanks to which deity might be listening - is flat-out adorable.
Apparently saying it with flowers = result?
Handle John's head with care, Lestrade. It was leaking vital bodily fluids not long ago. If you're too rough, you'll make a mess of the bedlinen. :D
Innie - it's basically what I did when murderers, an insanely powerful scary mother and the police conspired to throw Danger and I together on a criminal-infested moor. Although the closest thing to a Deity was probably the aforementioned mother.
Iamshadow - I promise to show John's leaky head nothing but the utmost tender loving care.
Oh dear, I just remembered a five-year-old reads this blog.
*embarrassed*
I mean, I know you guys are all smutty, but usually I'm more restrained.
Ha! You're right. Somewhere around here is a nanny doing a terrible job of protecting a 5 yr old's innocence. And his own innocence (although that's eroding away at a very pleasing rate).
I would apologise - but after the past few weeks of me being nothing but doom and gloom I'm hoping people don't mind a nice bit of ridiculous blogging. You must all be bloody bored of some bits of my life. I know I am. Happily there are other bits which more than make up for it though.
I'm kind of fortunate in that all of my 'kids' have four legs and fur or scales. I'm not used to there being small impressionable people around to hear me.
I wouldn't worry about it - he's really too young to understand what it really means and given what the entry started with, he probably read two sentences, declared it boring, and hasn't looked at it since.
I do hope one day he doesn't find it boring. I mean the...companionship. not necessarily the physical aspects. I dunno, I just feel like he'd be missing out, rather.
I'm sure he'll be fine. A bit of a loner maybe - but maybe not. He's not actively avoiding the other kids at school anymore. And he is only five. Going by what I was like at five, I'd now be a cowboy, or maybe a chef, and you can see how that's turned out.
If you want to don some leather chaps and ride me like a stallion then really, go ahead. I'd be fine with that. And tour cooking is improving, too.
Yeah, I'm sure I'm worrying for nothing.
...So when are you getting home then?
I worry too. I mean, they're never going to have easy lives, are they? But I'm sure there's someone out there for both of them.
When I get home isn't the issue. When I get you home - yours or mine - without any boys around, and, if it's your place, give Mrs H a few quid to go to bingo - that's the issue.
I hope there is. They both deserve a lot of love.
I literally laughed loudly enough to scare my cat at the idea "ride me like a stallion" comment. You guys.
And avoiding the inuenndo, I will point out that if you k wo the right people, purchasing a human head isn't all that hard. Finding a place to store it, however . . .
TTFN,
Bronwyn
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