i beg your pardon. i never promised you a rose garden.

I so wish I had a garden. Uhm…and as I’m not exactly horticulturally talented, maybe also a gardener.  Quite the opposite to being green-fingered; I cannot even keep a cactus alive, a fact that has been proven numerously. I became a little bit fanatic about cactuses (or cacti or whatever, I’m sorry but I simply refuse to write that) for a few years, after having watched Kalifornia where Brad Pitt cold-heartedly throws away Juliette Lewis’ little cactus and then, even more cold-heartedly, kills her in a cactus-garden.  I would beg my mom for one whenever we went to the supermarket so I had loads and would name them after Roman gods (I think this period might have coincided with my short-lived obsession with ancient mythology) and plant them in nice pots  with special cactus-soil. But despite all that care and devotion, and no matter how many cactus books I would take home from the library (not an awful lot to be honest but quite enough; Hatiora gaertneri, Disocactus phyllanthoides, Grusonia bulbispina and such) they would still go and die on me. After a few months they would all shrivel up like raisins. Then I saw the film Adaptation and gave them up altogether and opted for orchids instead, which is what I go with still. I have six of them right now, dead or alive, I am not too sure, either way they truly are a sorrowful sight.

So here I am, a very sorry excuse for a garden aficionado. Luckily, I have Regent’s Park practically around the corner. Good for inspiration until that gardener of mine comes along.