The ex and I went to Columbia Road market this morning, ostensibly to buy some pots but the glint in the eyes of the Venus flytrap below seduced me.
I have always wanted one.
There is something so deeply glamorous about them.
The ex and I had a few hissing-spitting squabbles on the way back from the market, in our usual style.
Heat + compost + pots + plants + busses = undiluted, unadulterated rage.
The fly in the ointment is that I’m a bit worried that I’m going to kill her. (How upsetting)
She only drinks filtered water / rain water.
She doesn’t like tap. Fussy thing.
Fly in ointment reminds me, I need to start murdering some bugs for her pleasure.
God, I’ve turned into Renfield.