Aaaaaargh! Oooooh! Mmmmmmmm!

What a morning.

Firstly a big chummy thank you to my mate Reg, who brought to me this a.m. a bag of home made scones.
Reg, you see, is a cook and like all cooks deems it right and kind, nay essential, to share his baked goods.
And so it was that, soon after 9, three shiny squares of sweetness were laid before me.
I resisted the call to devour his offerings preferring instead to wait till after I'd been out. Shopping....


First stop saw me and my current husband the unshaven Mr H. walking uneasily, unhappily around Hockley Garden Centre. Why?
Because the moment my tiny feet landed on the gravel (always get out of car like a lady) I felt the most unpleasant of feelings.
Brushing it aside as peri-menopausal madness I and Mr H. proceeded....Many plants, much garden paraphernalia and the always present husband/wife nightmare. She walking three steps ahead, he pushing a cart thing.
But even the sight of middle class/upper lower class going about their horticultural business couldn't dispel the feeling of rampant evilness I felt within.
My Lord it was as if I'd stepped into Hades itself.

I looked at giant Rhos, herbs, Marguerittes, grasses and peonies but still the presence of something wicked clung to my mac belt.

Yes, it was a gloomy day weatherwise, but I was happy, and had no reason for such a down turn in spirits, morning was going well, mum was kind of ok and I had Reg's scones to nibble on when watching Chelsea play Bayern Munich but blow me down there was summat awry here...

Being a soldier, I soldiered on insisting to myself it was nothing more than being in a unfamiliar place so soon after having me porridge and being in a state of grace after Reg's unexpected arrival.

"Tut tut" I said to Mr H demanding we leave Hockley Garden Centre and go along the road and around the bend leaving Lower Road to its own devilish devices.
"Let's do the shops, especially the one next to the chip shop, I gotta a good feeling about that".

I was right...

2 Recipe books. One about Cheesecakes the other a general cookbook from Reader's Digest.

A glass water jug with gold bands and delicate grooves.

A pair of lemon flower curtains, polyester, ideal for conservatory.

2 Kilner type jars, square, perfect for holding walnut halves and other cake essentials.

For mum three little murder novels and one book about Heart Throbs.

A white oval fluted ceramic baking dish. Can see all manner of tarts being baked therein. Could be used for Mackerel though.

15 pieces of heavy handled cutlery. (Denby)

The lady who served me was a small gorgeous creature, 80+ , blue eyes, white shiny hair and no visible ailments. She was pretty in a murderous auntie sort of way. A slip of a girl in pink with a flowery demeanour. Her smile was outstanding, broad genuine and I bet, when she was a gal, her comely face shredded the heart of every male within spitting distance of her neat and tidy home.

I emptied my purse unto her and left telling her to have a nice day (I'm young and modern). She laughed telling me to "have fun with my bits"...

But back to the garden centre...Not literally, only here in this post, I think and I may be wrong, often am, but I think it may have been assembled on a burial site or something of that ilk. Remember.... Hockley village is only a broomstick handle away from Canewdon, which was notorious for Witchcraft. Maybe some of the evil happenings kind of rippled along the Ashingdon Road did a right into Lower Road and...took root. Evilly.

Utter poppycock?

Wiki 'Canewdon' and you'll see...

Must dash now have to taste one of Reg's scones...I bet it's heavenly...