The Chelsea Manor House had gardens galore,
Walking through it’s acres was never a bore.
There were garden sections of every style,
And topiary displays for mile after mile.
A gaggle of gardeners were kept employed,
Perfecting all aspects that the squire enjoyed.
The squire was sir Rupert Pennywhistle,
And he was meticulous, looking for weed or thistle.
So, to the Head Gardener, he could complain,
And to this gent we must now give a name.
He was known to all as Cecil Blott,
And he was reputed to be a bit of a clot.
Whilst he had little time for the old squire.
He enthusiastically loved his garden empire.
He was also very, very enamoured,
Of the wife of the squire, for whom his heart clamoured.
Lady Petunia she was called. Very well built,
And a little bit bald. Blott dreamed he could jilt
The squire and become head of the Manor,
But this was but a dream, the Blott Manor Banner.
And so he continued to head the garden force,
At Chelsea Manor House, for better or worse.
Always on the lookout for Lady Petunia to glimpse,
He and his gardeners were looking like chimps,
Instead of a gaggle of gardeners bold,
Getting on with the job, doing what they’re told.
Sir Rupert Pennywhistle would occasionally trot,
Around a hedge corner to surprise Blott.
He’d say, with such a terrible smirk,
“Blott, look what I found, you lazy jerk!”
And he’d hold up some very limp weeds,
From newly germinated wild weed seeds.
“I insist upon absolute perfection”.
Blott wilted at such performance rejection.
Sir Rupert then disapeared most quickly,
Leaving Blott feeling morose and quite sickly.
Until he spied Lady Petunia on the terrace.
She was sitting there with her friend Lady Beryse.
Blott sometimes wondered if she might be trying to him to lure,
She seemed often to be drinking and waving, to be sure.
Blott worked his way over, until he was quite near,
And was surprised when Lady Petunia called, “Oh, Blott dear”,
“I would like you to trim my Kentia Palm”,
“It’s upstairs in a pot, and it will do no harm”,
“For you to come indoors for a little while”,
“I’ve been watching you, and I like your style”.
“Meanwhile, Lady Beryse can serve the tea”,
“While we get to work, yes, you and me”.
Blott misunderstood the intent of her words,
Thinking, at last he’s “away with the birds”.
And so as he pruned a Kentia frond,
He said to Lady Petunia, “Of you I am fond!”
Lady Petunia gasped with dismay,
“What a decidedly odd thing to say”,
“My station in life is that of a Lady”,
“You are a gardener, and somewhat shady”.
“I must inform, at once, Sir Rupert”,
“And you’ll soon be fired, you little squirt!”
Blott, advances definitely rejected,
Felt his departure should now be elected.
“Lady Petunia, I’m most frightfully sorry”,
“It will never happen again, don’t you worry”.
“Never happen again,” the Lady answered back.
“You are so right, because you’ve got the sack!”
So Blott was not a “Blot on the Landscape” anymore.
For, from his job, he’d been shown the door!
He had not achieved the station of “paramour”,
Lady Petunia had shown that infidelity she did abhor.