I am traveling through Bradford on Avon in search of a pudding I can call my own.
Well, at least one that I can pretend I have made for the people we have coming over this evening.
I have also heard that there is a flower shop in the town called Blooming Scrumptious so I am keen to take a closer look. And you never know, with a name like that, I might even find my pudding there.
I walk around the back streets and over the bridge into the high street, but with no luck.
I find window boxes packed with colour ...
cook shops packed with teapots ...
a cheese shop hung with bright tissue flowers ...
a restful courtyard cafe in dappled sun shine,
even unfeasibly plump peonies in a pink window
(they were false but still very pretty),
but no sign of the flower shop.
Eventually I retire to the park and ask a passer by about the shop.
"Oh that closed down a while ago."
I hope that the florists of Blooming Scrumptious have made a floral fortune and are now sunning themselves on an exotic beach. Sadly, I suspect like other flower shops, they have found that this is a really tough time for florists.
(And if you are a rich banker reading this, please go out immediately and spend an ostentatiously huge amount from your bonus in your local flower shop.)