Millions of posts suggest that everyone loves big, bright blooms. So I guess I do too
On an enforced mid-walk pause as the elderly dog licks a lamppost in confusion, my husband’s eyes alight on the nearest garden. “Ugh,” he says. “That’s ugly.” A thrill of delicious horror runs through me: he is pointing at a peony. A bubblegum-pink one, sure, but a peony: it’s like saying you hate puppies, or your mum.
“You hate those?” I ask him, scandalised. “But … they’re peonies!”
He shrugs.
