calmly neoclassical, something wisely proportioned and cool. You are inside Santa Maria della Presentazione, or Le Zitelle, as the information brochures prefer. The Giudecca, Venice, Palladio, O ye tourists of my soul. That’s what I’m like on the inside. Any tumultuous exterior I offer is merely to draw the crowds.
So what happened was this. I rang the door-bell, holding my flowers spread across both outstretched forearms. I did not want to appear like a delivery man. Rather I was a simple, a frangible petitioner, assisted only by the goddess Flora. Gillian opened the door. This was it. This was it.
‘I love you,’ I said.
She looked at me, and alarm put to sea in her tranquil eyes. To calm her, I handed over my bouquet, and quietly repeated, ‘I love you.’ Then I left.
I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’m out of my skull with happiness. I’m joyed, I’m awed, I’m poo-scared, I’m mega-fuckstruck.
Michelle (16) You get some real posers. That’s the trouble with the job. It’s not the flowers, it’s the people that buy them.
Like this morning. If only he hadn’t opened his mouth. When he walked in I thought, You can take me dirty dancing any day of the week. Really tasty, long black hair, brilliant, the suit was brilliant as well. Bit like Jimmy White if you know what I mean. He doesn’t come up to the desk straightaway, but gives me a nod and starts looking at the flowers, really closely, like he really knew about them. I have this game with myself, me and Linzi both play it, you decide how fanciable someone is. If they’re not very fanciable, you say, ‘He’s only a Tuesday,’ meaning if he asked you out you’d only keep one night of the week free for him. The best is to call someone ‘Seven Days of the Week’, which means you’d keep every day free if he asked. So this boy is looking at the irises and I’m doing the VAT on a multiple despatch but I’m also looking out of the corner of my eye and thinking, ‘You’re a Monday to Friday.’
Then he makes me go round the shop with him and pick out flowers that are blue or white, nothing else. I point out some nice pink stocks and he does this huge shudder and goes ‘Uuuuuugggh.’ Who does he think he’s impressing? Like those boys that come in for a single rose as if nobody’s everdone that before. Some boy give me a single red rose and I’d say, What you done with the other four, given them to your other girls?
Then we’re at the desk and he leans over all cocky like and actually gets hold of my chin and says, ‘Why so glum, my fair one?’ I pick up the scissors because I’m alone in the shop and if he touches me again he’ll leave without something he came in with, when the bell goes on the door and this other boy in a city suit comes in, boring yuppie sort. And the poser’s dead embarrassed because this other boy knows him and he’s just spotted him trying to get off with a girl in a shop, not his sort of style at all, and he blushes all over, scarlet, even his ears, I noticed the ears.
Then he goes all quiet and throws some money at me and tells me to hurry up and can’t wait to get the other boy out of the shop. So I take my time, not asking if he wants Cellophane gift-wrapping but just doing it really slowly and then I say I done the VAT wrong. And all the time I’m thinking, What did you open your mouth for? You were a Monday to Friday till then. Now you’re just a tosser.
I like flowers. But I won’t stay here long. Linzi won’t neither. We can’t stand the people that buy them.
Gillian Something strange happened today. Something very strange. And it didn’t stop after it had happened, if you see what I mean. It went on being strange in the afternoon, and then in the evening too.
I was sitting in front of my easel at about quarter to nine, doing preliminary tests on a little panel-picture of a Citychurch; Radio 3 in the background was churning out something by one of those Bachs who weren’t Bach. Then the
So what happened was this. I rang the door-bell, holding my flowers spread across both outstretched forearms. I did not want to appear like a delivery man. Rather I was a simple, a frangible petitioner, assisted only by the goddess Flora. Gillian opened the door. This was it. This was it.
‘I love you,’ I said.
She looked at me, and alarm put to sea in her tranquil eyes. To calm her, I handed over my bouquet, and quietly repeated, ‘I love you.’ Then I left.
I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’m out of my skull with happiness. I’m joyed, I’m awed, I’m poo-scared, I’m mega-fuckstruck.
Michelle (16) You get some real posers. That’s the trouble with the job. It’s not the flowers, it’s the people that buy them.
Like this morning. If only he hadn’t opened his mouth. When he walked in I thought, You can take me dirty dancing any day of the week. Really tasty, long black hair, brilliant, the suit was brilliant as well. Bit like Jimmy White if you know what I mean. He doesn’t come up to the desk straightaway, but gives me a nod and starts looking at the flowers, really closely, like he really knew about them. I have this game with myself, me and Linzi both play it, you decide how fanciable someone is. If they’re not very fanciable, you say, ‘He’s only a Tuesday,’ meaning if he asked you out you’d only keep one night of the week free for him. The best is to call someone ‘Seven Days of the Week’, which means you’d keep every day free if he asked. So this boy is looking at the irises and I’m doing the VAT on a multiple despatch but I’m also looking out of the corner of my eye and thinking, ‘You’re a Monday to Friday.’
Then he makes me go round the shop with him and pick out flowers that are blue or white, nothing else. I point out some nice pink stocks and he does this huge shudder and goes ‘Uuuuuugggh.’ Who does he think he’s impressing? Like those boys that come in for a single rose as if nobody’s everdone that before. Some boy give me a single red rose and I’d say, What you done with the other four, given them to your other girls?
Then we’re at the desk and he leans over all cocky like and actually gets hold of my chin and says, ‘Why so glum, my fair one?’ I pick up the scissors because I’m alone in the shop and if he touches me again he’ll leave without something he came in with, when the bell goes on the door and this other boy in a city suit comes in, boring yuppie sort. And the poser’s dead embarrassed because this other boy knows him and he’s just spotted him trying to get off with a girl in a shop, not his sort of style at all, and he blushes all over, scarlet, even his ears, I noticed the ears.
Then he goes all quiet and throws some money at me and tells me to hurry up and can’t wait to get the other boy out of the shop. So I take my time, not asking if he wants Cellophane gift-wrapping but just doing it really slowly and then I say I done the VAT wrong. And all the time I’m thinking, What did you open your mouth for? You were a Monday to Friday till then. Now you’re just a tosser.
I like flowers. But I won’t stay here long. Linzi won’t neither. We can’t stand the people that buy them.
Gillian Something strange happened today. Something very strange. And it didn’t stop after it had happened, if you see what I mean. It went on being strange in the afternoon, and then in the evening too.
I was sitting in front of my easel at about quarter to nine, doing preliminary tests on a little panel-picture of a Citychurch; Radio 3 in the background was churning out something by one of those Bachs who weren’t Bach. Then the
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