I worked in the shop today because Angela had to go for an MRI at the hospital. I dropped an 11ounce bottle of agarwood oil and it smashed to bits on the shop tiles. Pardon my French but, ****! That’s four hundred quid in a greasy puddle on the shop floor. Not a good start to the day but the potent aphrodisiac properties of the agarwood certainly brought out the friskiness in several customers. I should have promoted it and got some use out of the spilled oil; people coming from miles around to get a whiff of the extremely rare and expensive essential oil that, with one sniff, makes you go all randy.
Actually I had to get out of the shop on several occasions because the overpowering smell of the oil was making me feel sick. I had the door open all day so it was smelly and cold. It’s a funny old spring we’re having with all this rain and gloomy skies. A drought one week and a flood the next. It’s almost biblical.
When I got home this evening Geoff had already gone to his meeting but he had left me the most delicious piece of pork pie with some of the pickled onions from Bakewell and a rocket and walnut salad. It was just what I wanted and all I had to do was sit at the kitchen table and eat. He’d even thought to chill some wine for me.
Jemima called to tell me all about her flower reading. She goes to this woman who can get psychic vibes through flowers. So Jemima has to pick a flower, any flower, and take it to this woman for analysis. Your choice of flower is very important but the subtleties lie within the various colours, scents and shapes of each particular specimen. A person who allows one leaf to remain attached is afraid to let go of the past, apparently. Anyway, the long and short of it is; Jemima is psychic but she doesn’t know it. She is also vulnerable to diseases of the pancreas and joints. Her ‘guide’ is an eighteenth century warlock called Hester. She has wooden teeth and the obligatory wart, one must suppose.