I'm lazily trawling through the rose sites, making a list of lovely things for the garden. Some of the names are so perfectly rose-like: Gloire de Ducher; Reine des Voilettes. I'm note sure what those words actually mean but they sound so frothy and elegant, I want to slip on some marabou trimmed mules and take to my chaise lounge in the boudoir.
Other titles are a little more ambiguous: La Passionata and - my favourite - Belle of Berlin, which suggests either a Sally Bowles type figure, bold and blooming in corruption and decay or something quiet and hardy, surviving in the rubble of a post-war city, giving hope to a battered population.
But sometimes people surely miss the spirit of the rose. It's a winner, Betty Boop, Las Vegas all sound like racehorses. Jessika could come from the birth notices we giggle at on Sundays. And Dazzla and White Lightnin', well, that's just wrong.
But friend Ttina, who is indeed currently in Berlin, sent me something so odd, so mind-bendingly inappropriate, I can't help but wonder if it is a joke: the Weight Watchers Success rose. (It is, of course, a redi-plant.) When I think about roses I shiver in pleasure at their abundance and generosity, their lushness, their sensuality; when I think about Weight Watchers, not so much - I guess they're going for an image change.
But the more intriguing question is this: what would a Weight Watchers Failure to Achieve Goal Weight Rose look like?
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