When I visited the Globe Theatre on the wettest, coldest Bank Holiday Monday in history, my thoughts naturally turned to water. I was drawn to this replica watering pot by its shape and colour so I bought it, thinking I might feel like Anne Hathaway or even Elizabeth 1 as I wander around the house watering my plants.
The instructions are simple: FILL , HOLD, WATER . Pictures show (a) pot immersed in container of water (b) pot being removed from container with thumb over hole and (c) thumb removed and water cascading from holes at bottom of pot onto plants.
Further to my last post on the difference between the sexes when reading instructions, here is how this morning's attempts to use the new pot went in our household: monix reads instructions, follows them and waters herbs successfully, albeit less conveniently than with the usual watering can; Master Mariner covers bottom of pot with clingfilm, holds pot under running tap, walks triumphantly to houseplant, removes clingfilm and - nothing! No water in pot.
A little Browning sprang to mind as he handed over the watering pot:
Gr-r-r- there go, my heart's abhorrence!
Water your damned flower pots, do!
But perhaps Chesterton suits the old MM better:
I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
I did find this watering pot that could rival Beedogs! At least MM would know how to use it.