“I am a woman in the Autumn of her life. I recently married Terry, the chairman of our local amateur dramatics society. As this is a marriage intended solely for companionship, romantic relations are of no consequence to me – his oily skin and thick curly black hair make him look like a Latin Edward Miliband. Thus, my garden has provided a much needed escape from his amorous advances.
However, the Summer has drenched the garden in colour and life; the flowers bursting out of the ground and the shrubbery thick and exotic. I must confess, presented with such unbridled, rampant proliferation, I have - on more than one occasion - come over quite hot while in my garden.
Now when I watch Terry on stage, I squint, I can pretend he is John Nettles. And Terrys’ swarthy features - his dark beard and olive skin - are making it extremely difficult to sit still during ‘The Archers.’” – Margaret, Blisworth
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