Whenever I feel clapped-out and ancient, which is often brought on by looking in the mirror, I take myself off to a garden centre where, within seconds, I am young and fit again, at least relatively. That’s not actually the reason why I visited a large garden centre this afternoon, mind you, but there’s a silver lining in every cloud. So, off I went to see what, if any, garden furniture they might have and whether there might be a sale on so I could grab myself a bargain. Fat chance. There’s only one thing you can shop for in garden centres, and hell hole shops like The Range, and that’s bloody Christmas.
As I write, it’s 11th October which is within a couple of days of being the middle of the meteorological autumn. Winter, you see, doesn’t actually begin until 1st December, but many of the big stores are geared-up for the festive season already and it’s awful.
The first section of Cadbury Garden Centre, for it was there I made a pointless visit, has a section that wasn’t there last time I visited. It’s a large clothes shop for old people, selling thick jumpers, Hunter wellies, a selection of hats which in years gone by would have been worn by TV personality Jack Hargreaves (ask your grandparents, kids), waxed jackets and all the rest of it. I moved through the clothes as fast my legs could carry me before I hit The Christmas Section, or rather The Biggest Christmas Section because there’s much more of this crap along the way. Sodding baubles everywhere, as well as fake plastic trees, crackers everything that’s wholly unnecessary that you don’t need to make your Christmas a success.
Needless to say that having finally navigated my way through the Christmas tat, I found there was precious little by way of garden furniture available to purchase – why? It’s closer to last summer than it is to next winter – and my journey had been in vain.
Finding my way to the exit was not as easy as I expected, either. It was the Hotel California of garden centres, it appeared, where I could check out any time I liked but I could never leave. Twice I found myself in the Shit Books section, a place that is a compulsory part of any garden centre worth its salt, full of books you would simply never see anywhere else, certainly not in a good bookshop. And there they all were: ‘Three crap fiction paperbacks you’ve never heard of” for a fiver. Guides to this and that, including wild birds and railways. And cookery books. There are always cookery books by people you, again, have never heard of, with recipes for things you could make in your sleep or wouldn’t feed the dog with.
A few minutes later, which felt like a lot of minutes later, I went through the ‘farm shop’ – so called because it isn’t in a farm and much of the produce doesn’t come from one – and it was all sodding Christmas stuff again. Here, you could get your Christmas gin, your Christmas beer, your Christmas biscuits and, if you are well organised enough your Christmas dead animal which is currently slumbering in a field nearby, looking forward to some relaxing time in the oven. Having not bought anything – this was not a difficult decision – there was of course no easy way out, so I had to “excuse me” and “sorry” my way through the tight tills, trying not to knock off a Zimmer frame with someone leaning on it to get outside. “Thank you for your custom,” said a polite man by the door. “But I’ve bought fuck all,” I didn’t reply, but it did cross my mind.
This, friends, is the rock and roll lifestyle of the old and doddery, which is to say me. It looks like my garden furniture will have to wait. I only wish that Christmas would wait, too; to sometime nearer 2030, because soon everywhere will look like a garden centre. In fact, the only things that were missing today were Jona Fucking Lewie, Chrissie Hynde and the Pogues and so here it is sodding Merry Christmas, Noddy, I hope you’re having fun from the small fortune you deservedly make every single year.
The grouch? Me? You betcha. It’s now the time of year when I wish I could go into hibernation and wake up on 1st March 2024. Spring will have sprung and hopefully garden centres will be selling garden equipment and not just Christmas tat. Some hope.
