I like to grow things. There's something amazing about watching a little piece of nature blossoming under your care.
I like to, but I don't manage to. I kill things.
At the moment I'm killing one Venus Flytrap, watching as the life ebbs slowly from it's yellowing leaves and it's toothy heads wrinkle and die one by one. Another seems to be happily hanging on, which is surely a miracle of biblical proportions. I'm still waiting for my home grown flytraps to germinate - I think I may be waiting a while. Everyday I look for the little points of green poking up their heads, but alas. Come on little seeds, how hard can it be?
On the slightly less exotic side, my baby sweet peas are growing up admirably, apart from the few that are cramped in a tiny propagator with nowhere to go because I ran out of pots and sowed them too soon for them to go outside. They will surely die before long, murderer. Murderer. Say it twice and it loses all meaning.
Of course, I'm going away tomorrow for over a week so all varieties of doomed plants will be relying for water on the funky gel stuff I bought for them, which may or may not work, who knows. I bet Venus won't like it though. I'm fully expecting to come back to a plant graveyard.
Ficus, ficus will survive.