The Orchid Growers

I wish I could grow a garden, I really do. "But Freya" you might say, "you have a garden already!" I know, but it's not mine and I'm not responsible for keeping it alive. It belongs to my landlord, and my only job is to lounge around in it and inspect the pond every so often to see what's growing in there - I think we have newts.

No, I kill plants. I'm one of those people. I have been blessed with one skill though, and that's orchids. I think it's hereditary, you see, because my Grandmother grew them, my mum grows them, and now I do too - semi-successfully.

My Grandmother's collection has been thriving for years, and even though she is no longer around, the gardeners continue to care for them as if she was - and may scold them any moment for not feeding them correctly. In my Grandfather's kitchen you will always find orchids in flower, and then they are taken back out to the greenhouse when they're done.

Mine just sit on my mantelpiece all year round, whether they are flowering or not. Last time we moved a lot of my orchids died; they don't like change. One day Adam came home with his arms full of new orchids for me, because he's lovely like that.

The above orchid is a mini one and the newest member of the family. I hope she likes living at casa-de-nishaantishu.