I don’t know why Mrs Cunter likes watching this programme.
It’s not like she can grow flowers here.
It’s all palms and cactii for us.
I don’t mind Monty Don, he knows what he is talking about and his dog is obviously A Very Good Boy.
The rest of his team are a different matter altogether.
An ugly black women, a scruffy, unshaven spiv with a speach impediment, a saggy old bag lady and worse of all, a flid.
How she ever got employed as a gardener is beyond me.
She might be very clever with planting small things with her feet but she would be fucked by digging up a tree stump.
I am amazed by the soil in Monty’s garden.
Whenever he has to dig a hole for anything the soil is as soft as shit.
You never see him struggling with hard, compacted ground and finding old roof tiles and bricks buried like in the real world.
Then, like all TV gardeners they come out with the Latin names for plants.
What’s the fucking point?
Nobody is going to write them down or remember them.
I reckon the presenters have to use an autocue as well.
I don’t believe for one minute that they know the Latin for the plants they show.
So why tell us?
You go to the garden centre and say,
“Oi mate, I want half a dozen solanum lycopersicum abracazebra. And don’t try and palm me off with some lycopersicon esculentum. You dodgy cunt”.
As if the minimum wage garden center worker would have a clue what you were on about.
And at the end of the programme Monty gives you your jobs for the weekend.
Pinch out your chrysanthemums.
Pot on your geraniums.
Multch your sweet potatoes.
Yes Monty. Thanks for reminding me. I will get straight on it.
Gardener’s World.
A load of manure.
Nominated by The Artful Cunter.