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There’s a bright golden vacancy on the meadow
One in five British wild flowers is vanishing, we learned yesterday from the British Organisation For Getting Its Spokesmen On Telly (BOFGISOT).
What we didn’t learn is where the hell they’re all going.
When you reflect on the amazingly good life we give the little bastards – they can’t be built on, it’s illegal to pick them, and if you inhale within fourteen yards of one you’ll probably get a tagging order – it looks like sheer ingratitude.
The truth is more tragic.
Such familiar flowers as Woosnam’s Bludgeon and Epiglottis have developed agoraphobia and spend their days sobbing faintly behind drawn curtains.
Spurgeon’s Fritillary has got some woman in Doncaster and is constantly up there on so-called business trips.
Knobbly Jenny’s new husband is so jealous he won’t let her go out unless she’s disguised as a cowpat.
Imp’s Sporran and Charnel-Hut got trapped while potholing and ensnared by a sinister cult of troglodytes.
Tommy-Come-Lately ‘popped out for a Fanta’ two years ago and was last seen on a railway station in Belgium, without his medication.
And all remaining Gnome’s Kidneys have had to assume new identities after testifying against Alan ‘The Butcher’ Titchmarsh.
A spokes-narcissist for BOFGISOT commented: ‘Would it go better if I was crouched on a motorway verge, doing my forthright-yet-compassionate voice, with my ill-cut hair blowing around as a sign of integrity? Up to you, Benjy, you’re the professional.’
ON OTHER PAGES:
How your personality can reveal what you’re really like
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Mobile libraries emit harmful radiation – no child should use one
Eight pages of celebrities you’ve never heard of showing their sweat stains and cellulite
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