With all this talking of planting, I can remember one day at the council years ago, myself and another guy (who’ll we’ll call Dave to protect his identity) were dropped off at an old peoples home in West London on a job. The work in question was to plant lots of clumps of Daffodil bulbs to give a “naturalised” effect amongst the flower beds and the large lawn.
So at just gone 8am with dibbers and tools at the ready, we were let onto the site by the foreman and he turned to us and said “as an incentive, once you get most of the bulbs in you can have an early lunch” knowing only too well the job would take us all day the amount we had to put in.
After the Foreman sped off into the Autumn morning sun in his council van, my workmate Dave, a very funny Northern guy who did like a doss (he said to me on his first day, “Alright mate, my names Dave, what’s the skive like?”) looked at me and said “I fancied a nice half day today” I could see he had a brainwave.
He proceeded to dig a hole, of about 2 foot square and 3 foot deep in front of the home’s back window where the OAP’s were sitting watching the telly. Then he grabbed the large half a hundred-weight bag of daffs and poured the hundreds of bulbs into the hole. As he refilled the hole and transferred the left over soil to the beds so no-one would suss his trick, he said to me “that’s going to give the old people a lovely show in the spring and me an early cut. Enjoy the rest of your day, mate” leaving me shellshocked as he trotted off towards the tube station and it weren’t even 9am! Council workers eh?