Death by Salad

I cannot say my rotten selfish children never give me anything; I have the Apprentice's cold.  I greeted Mr Smith on his return from France with a streaming nose, ghastly headache and raging sore throat.  I really am not much fun to come home to.  He brought weird things back from his travels.  I asked for some Fraise liqueur but instead got a bottle of green banana liqueur and a couple of things that look like loo cleaner: blue curacao and something bright orange.  Maybe they will cure my cold.  He had also bought cider, ah now that's a bit more like it.  I note it is Brittany cider which seems a bit odd as he was in Normandy - oh, it was on special offer.

The student says he has definitely got salad poisoning and is going to die.  I explained the hazards of drinking too much alcohol as I have never known him to eat salad, ever.  He wants to know whose seeds I use in my  garden in case he accidentally eats a vegetable when he comes home - without doubt Thompson & Morgan down to the last chive.  Everything is growing so beautifully I think we might have a medley of first borns for Vegetarian Tuesday.  It'll be something like cabbage leaves with three mangetouts, two broad beans and a teeny french bean on a small cauliflower.  Oh so exciting.  Mr Smith looks at their non uniformity suspiciously and mumbles about them being far cheaper and easier to procure from Sainsburys.  Yes, I know.

I am trying to find a welding class.  I quite fancy myself with an oxy acetylene torch in the back bedroom running up a few fancy wrought iron structures for my vegetable growing.  It doesn't matter if they are a bit bish as they're only for me and my beans.  Mr Smith sighs.  "They're not that expensive at the garden centre and they're all uniform."  He just doesn't get it.