Pretty Posies

Nettlewell, one of England's hidden gems or so thought the residents. Population well about 100 give or take. Youngest person four years old and oldest 90. The row of thatched cottages down the lane by the church. Next to the church was the school and across from that was the pub conveniently next to that was the doctors. And then came the beauty of the village centre, the shops. The baker, butcher, corner shop which was also the post office, the cafe, antique shop, shoe repair and all other things that the owner decided to try his hand at and the laundry with machines as old as the residents and probably the only place in England that still took the old pound coins and where the internet was near to non existent. The end of the row, along the cobbled street was the towns pride and joy, the florist Pretty Posies, the sign with chipping paint and the forever squeaking door. The village's only claim to fame. The five time winner of the National Bloom Championships and that was down to the florist. The people of Nettlewell led a peaceful life until that letter arrived.