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I've got a garden stuffed full of arums... not by choice, since I keep digging the flipers up & they keep on coming back...
Originally posted by zeitghost
During October, I filled 9 binbags full of arum leaves, having chopped them back to the ground...
The flipers are now 3 feet tall again... though the frost does a lovely job of discouraging them for a while.
Madly growing plant.
Think: "The Return of the Giant Hogweed"
Rhizomatous, herbaceous perennial plants, a coupleof metres high with arrowhead-shaped ) leaves 10-55 cm long. The flowers are produced in a spikelike inflorescence with a stout, succulent main stem. All parts of the plants are poisonous.
Think: "The Day of the Triffids".
Can't stop 'em growing.
Think: the red weed in "The War of the Worlds"
Giant Alien Lizard.
Oh no.
I think we might be in trouble.
Zeity, did you, by any chance, bring any pot plants with you when you invaded?
Drivelling in TPD is not a mental health issue. We're just community blogging, that's all.
They the ones that like a kebab on the way home and puke for the rest of the night?
No. Not the alco-pops tramps. I mean properly built lasses that can down a few beers then feel up for a bit of physical labour. Pie 'n' chips girls.
Proper women with proper women's bits.
None of your ribs-like-a-xylophone, jeez-watch-where-you-put-those-pointy-hips bints. Can't be doing with that. All elbows and knees in the bed and no warmth.
Soft, warm, loving women. Women with a strong arm. A woman that can make a suet pudding. A woman that can bump-start a big car on a cold morning.
Real women.
Luv 'em.
Pseudo-boys that walk with a wiggle, drink blue pop and screetch in a high voice? Not my type at all.
And the amazing bit is - I'm utterly convinced blokes like me are in the majority.
Drivelling in TPD is not a mental health issue. We're just community blogging, that's all.
No. Not the alco-pops tramps. I mean properly built lasses that can down a few beers then feel up for a bit of physical labour. Pie 'n' chips girls.
Proper women with proper women's bits.
None of your ribs-like-a-xylophone, jeez-watch-where-you-put-those-pointy-hips bints. Can't be doing with that. All elbows and knees in the bed and no warmth.
Soft, warm, loving women. Women with a strong arm. A woman that can make a suet pudding. A woman that can bump-start a big car on a cold morning.
Real women.
Luv 'em.
Pseudo-boys that walk with a wiggle, drink blue pop and screetch in a high voice? Not my type at all.
And the amazing bit is - I'm utterly convinced blokes like me are in the majority.
I heartily agree, some of these birds need to get a few pie's and cream cakes down their necks and fill out a bit
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