The War Of Two Turnips And A Cucumber [ONC 2022]

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Though the day had started out overcast, with a little drizzle that darkened and speckled the cobble stones of the street, Humphrey had awoken with more than a little spring in his step. He felt as though he could run at least a good few dozen feet, if he felt like it. He didn't feel like it, of course. A fast walk was good enough for anybody.

The morning trip to the shop, to collect his newspaper and to pass a few minutes talking to Gladys, the shopkeeper, passed without any incident. Tucking the newspaper into his coat, he found himself looking up to the skies, allowing the light rain to fall upon his skin. As though it washed away all his cares and worries. A fresh rain. A clean rain.

After breakfast, the rain had cleared up, the clouds had drifted away and it had fast become the perfect day for a spot of gardening. And, if nothing else, Humphrey did so enjoy gardening. With his cats twirling around his legs, Humphrey carried his gardening tools outside, wiped the spots of rain from the rusting metal table and dropped his newspaper upon it, ready to read after he had tended and cared for his most precious companions. His flowers.

Where Cornelius Haughton had won many a prize for his splendid vegetables, Humphrey had found his niche in flowers. Too early for his flowers to wash his large garden with colour, nonetheless, Humphrey took the time to care for his plants, ready for Spring to arrive and adorn his garden with the brightness and warmth of new life.

Before he knew it, almost two hours had past and he had only cleared away the dead leaves from his prize Begonias, so deep within his task had he found himself. And, when the braying, coughing, screeching sound of Audrey Poole's aged Land Rover crashed upon his peace and quiet, Humphrey almost missed it. Almost. Audrey had a way of forcing her way into everyone's deepest thoughts.

"Humphrey, you old bugger!" With a swagger belying her size, Audrey threw open the gate to Humphrey's garden and strode towards him as though she owned the place. "I hate to say it, old chap, but these flowers of yours aren't going to win anything without a bit of colour."

"It's not quite flowering time, Audrey." She didn't hear him. She had already disappeared into his house without asking permission. "Do make yourself at home."

He liked Audrey. Quite a lot, if truth be told. She had a personality that dwarfed her larger than average size and a laugh that dwarfed even that. Everything about Audrey began loud and only headed up from there. She made friends with the casualness of someone who had little to lose and much to gain. Unlike Humphrey, who only made friends after he had made a mental pros and cons list, studied it, moved around the points and finally come to a positive cost/benefit analysis of that possibility of friendship.

Jumping into things, like Audrey, positively gave him itches and tics that took some time to clear up. As Audrey emerged from his home, mug of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other, she scraped a metal chair, as rusted as its accompanying table, out to the side, flopped onto it and began to leaf through Humphrey's pristine newspaper. It took every ounce of his willpower not to 'eek' as margarine slicked fingers stained the pages.

"Well, there's nothing in here about it, old boy. I'd say you've got away with it." Sitting back, Audrey brushed errant crumbs from the front page of the newspaper, causing Humphrey to cringe. "Good show, old boy. Good show."

Chomping down on the last corner of the toast, Audrey winked at Humphrey and he didn't know why. He smiled anyway. He often found that people gave him the benefit of the doubt if he gave them a pleasant smile, never expecting him to add to conversations he had no understanding of. Either that, or they realised he remained blissfully unaware of what they spoke about and preferred not having to explain everything, they had said previously, in a fashion a child could understand.