smokingboot

So there's the heat and the sunlight and the garden and me.

No maelstrom this weekend due to my first outings on the late night shows. Which means I should be looking to kip right now. Only I can't, because everything is too hot!

Growing up in Singapore, I hated having too many clothes on, and nothing has really changed; given the choice, if I could waft around in chiffons and gossamers or just very little, I seriously would. Everything feels so heavy against my skin, even dear old cotton; Winter is often an agony of clumped up scratchy layers for me, can't move, can't breathe, can only itch. No, I prefer a world where fig leaves and flowers are our only fashion statements...

See, I am looking at these beautiful flowers in

mamapusscat's garden, while I try to kip on the lounger, and I can't help thinking how much nicer it would be if you could just wear petals against your skin; for one brief moment I imagined myself rolling around in the petals of a gigantic rose, wet and fragrant, admittedly there would be the inevitable impaling on a massive thorn to follow but no point complaining; pleasure should always have an element of the unexpected.

In lieu of giant flowers, I suddenly thought; 'I could just press the flowers against my skin' but of course, one wouldn't want to take them off their stems. So then I thought, 'I could go up to the flowers and press my skin against them instead...'

Then, crystal in vision, my mind's eye showed me a court room full of

mamapusscat's indignant neighbours and baffled legalbeagles.

Prosecution: Mr Angersome Gardner, remember you are on oath. Would you repeat for the court exactly what you saw?
AG: She was pressing them roses to her breasts, your honour, both of them.
Pro: Both roses?
AG: Both breasts. The one on the right was a rhododendron. I checked. Then she moved them round a bit.
Pro: The breasts?
AG: The flowers. One of those rose bushes was an old English Ena Harkness. With the World Cup on the way, it seemed disrespectful. Naturally I was on the phone to the Royal Horticultural College within seconds.
Pro: It must have been quite a shock to you.
Ag: It's my poor wife who suffered the brunt; This all happened just above where I buried her.
Pro: Ms Boot, can you deny nuzzling your breasts up against the local flora of Haringey Council?
Boot: Um...well, I wouldn't call it 'nuzzling' as such.
Pro: Really? What would you call it?
Boot: I was suckling them, your honour. We all do that up north.

And suddenly we're dealing with an entirely different kind of court order...