“Allahu Akbar!” I shout, as I deadhead the roses. I am an Islamic gardener. The gardens I tend are based upon Islamic principles, and contain not a whiff of kaffir filth. No woman shall ever besmirch the gravel paths between the flower beds. And whenever a bloom sprouts atop a green stalk, I take my combination scimitar-and-secateurs and lop it off, in praise of Allah.
The only plants I allow to flourish are varieties of Old Man’s Beard, including Chionanthus virginicus, a tree both medicinal and ornamental, Clematis aristata, an Australian climbing plant, Clematis vitalba, another climbing plant, Tillandsia usneoides, or Spanish moss, a bromeliad, and Usnea, a type of lichen. Because they vaguely resemble an old man’s beard, they are suitably Islamic.
Occasionally I am mistaken for a hippy gardener, Steve Hillage of Gong with a spade in place of a guitar. I have been told we are like two peas in a pod. But there are no peas in my gardens, because peapods do not have beards.
Steve Hillage : not an Islamic fundamentalist
I am a European Enlightenment Gardener. Unfortunately there are no longer any roses because they all died out in a mass extinction event at the beginning of the Anthropocene era. This epoch has been dated as having commenced one afternoon in 17 something when Rousseau was enjoying having his bottom smacked by his aunt. Meanwhile his father was flogging Swiss watches to some Ottoman despot or other in Istanbul. This despot liked gardening…..It’s all true dammit Sir…..