Mud, rain and a filthy mind

Matters horticultural have been eating up my precious time.The weather has been shite. Don't move to the south of france if you're seeking sunshine - it's a rare sight this year.

Here are some pics from the garden - the flowers are far more photogenic than the veggies.

I had quite a laugh this week when I saw my friend E. She's not a good friend...more of an acquaintance, really. She lives in the UK but has a house here that she visits a few times a year. We enjoy chatting about our gardens. She's always picking my brains about which plants thrive out here. I do my best to help by telling her of my successes and failures.

E is a bit bohemian. Nothing wrong with that, I'm not exactly a twin-set and pearler myself. She wears hemp clothing and heavy jewellery, her hair is deep conker red and her nose is pierced. You know the type. She must be pushing sixty years old, near as dammit. She listens to Courtney Love and goes to raves. She's not your average Granny. In fact, I don't think she is a Granny. Kids have never been mentioned. I believe she is happily without encumbrance.

For the two years I have known her, she has referred mysteriously to someone called her 'lover.' When ever she says the word, 'lover' her voice seems to quiver and become husky as if just saying the word is enough to give her a nano-orgasm. It's all very Germaine Greer. It seems to suggest that (maybe it's just me and my filthy mind) that the relationship is based upon...you know...just sex.I can't deny I have been curious about her 'lover' - but I felt it would be too rude to pry. In my mind I have always pictured him as an art curator called Jolyon, rangey and athletic with an insatiable sexual appetite and dab hand at a vinaigrette.

So, when we were strolling around her weed-choked garden the other day, discussing low maintenance planting options, my ears pricked up when she announced that her 'lover' had joined her on this trip.

At that moment, a figure emerged from the backdoor of the house, carrying a can of beer.

His name is Trev.He's a suspended ceiling specialist from Thurrock.And he's E's 'lover.'

I dearly hope the look on my face didn't signal the extent of my disappointment. I was expecting a sex-God on a stick. Not...Trev.

It got me thinking...what do you call your other half? Insignificant other? Better half? Him/her indoors? Arsehole? Cheque-book on legs? Fella? Geezer? Oi? Sweetness and light? Biggest mistake? Long term life partner? M'colleague? The commandant?
Come on...Cheer me up. It's Fetes des Meres - and it's raining outside.I know you want to tell me...