The OH has just got back from a trip to France. Part of the ad hoc itinerary was a visit to some kind of Gallic flower show/country fair.

Whilst there, one of the people the OH was staying with, knowing of my burgeoning collection of sempervivums, wanted to buy me one. The OH who was travelling to and from the continent as a foot passenger vetoed this.

I wasn’t hugely impressed with that news. After all is there an easier plant to transplant than a houseleek?

Just take a plastic flowerpot, stuff it with cotton wool, scrunched kitchen roll, or newspaper even, invert over the sempervivum, secure with an elastic band or sellotape. Then slip it in a carrier bag with some holes in and the job’s a good’un.

Simple.

It’d take up next to no space – it’s hardly a Wardian case.

Mind you I do say all that as a person who once took an eight-foot canary palm on a train.

But no. No, that would have been too much effort.

As I say, I was a bit miffed. I mean, why tell anyone about the present they nearly got.

The situation was ameliorated by a bottle of what looks like a French version of port and a jar of what appears to be mustard with samphire.

Interesting and delightful I’m sure, but I’d still have rather have had the Sempervivum.

And to add insult to injury I came home to find the OH slathering “My” mustard with what appears to be samphire, over a sandwich.

Apparently they are “joint” presents.

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