Corona Diaries: my roses are in therapy

The corona saga in the UK is becoming so outrageously dumb that I’m reduced to trivialities in order to maintain my good humour. And what trivialities are more charming than roses?

If you visit this blog on a regular basis, you might recall that a couple of weeks ago I made a significant discovery. My patio roses have personalities. So much so that I named them Boris, Theresa, Dominic, Matt and Keir.

Since then, they haven’t had the easiest time. A week ago I found that they were infected with the dreaded black spot. This required removing the infected leaves, and then spraying those that remained with an anti-fungal remedy. While doing this treatment I sprayed myself for good measure. Actually it was a windy day, so I had little say in the matter. But I’m sure it did me some good. Must tell Donald about it.

I also dead-headed them, which has left some of them considerably less flowery and loaded with promise than they were before. Anyway, here’s a brief update on their progress.

Thus far, unfortunately, my attempt to engender a herd immunity has not been entirely successful. Shorn of spotty leaves, all but Keir look a little more threadbare than they were.

Boris is on his last two blooms, and when they’re gone he will look like the floral equivalent of a headless chicken. Branches all over the place, with nothing new to celebrate.

Theresa is devoid of blooms, which makes her seem even more retiring than before. However, there are a few buds in sight, and at least she’s not as encroached upon by her noisy neighbours as she was before.

Dominic is also looking a little sad. His branches have been much reduced, and there are few blooms in sight. Matt, on the other hand, still has plenty of flowers, but when they’re gone, the purge of the black spots will leave him pretty flowerless for a while.

Keir, on the other hand, is continuing in his own quiet way. He’s a smaller plant, and his blooms are less frequent. But when they arrive they’re both fragrant and spectacular, changing over time from a deep crimson to a paler pink complexion. He’s the one least affected by black spot. All the indications are that he’s set to have a good summer.

All in all, Keir excepted, they look somewhat chastened, or diminished, you might say.

Perhaps the time has come to re-name them in the hope that they might be invigorated by more positive associations. England cricketers, perhaps, or leading immunologists.

What was I thinking of when I named them after the deadheads in Westminster in the first place?