Exit through the gift shop
THIS WEEK: Garden Centre gift shops, Nairn's Marmite and Cheese oatcakes
THING: Garden Centre gift shops
When I was a child, a trip to the garden centre felt like being suffocated with a pillow. It was the most stultifying thing on earth - staring at bedding plants and standing in a catatonic state next to a stone lion while my parents discussed hanging baskets.
But I’ve changed, and now I love to poke around in the perennials and have a mealy scone in an overpriced cafe. Garden centres have changed too: some are fancy chains owned by major conglomerates, while others are independently-run by insane people with three teeth who will try to sell you a statue of a hedgehog in a trench coat flashing its genitals.
However, there’s one thing that’s guaranteed - there will ALWAYS be a gift shop full of the most bonkers shit you’ve ever seen. So even though you came in for weedkiller and some fence posts, there’s every chance you’ll also leave with a vibrant floral scarf, a woodland animals chess set and:
A DUCK CALLED RITA
This was the first thing I saw when I walked into Caulder’s Garden Centre near Glasgow yesterday, and I’m sure when I go to sleep Rita will appear in my dreams and peck my eyes out in a frenzied attack. The fact that it’s a duck with no face wearing a bearskin hat and a kilt is bad enough, but when it comes to personalisation, Rita isn’t a very current name, is it? Not only are there (probably) no ducks called Rita, I bet you’d also be hard pressed to find a living person called Rita, beyond the Kabin in Coronation Street. Still, it’s *only* £20!
VERDICT: Duck’s sake
PINK OYSTER MUSHROOM GROWING KIT, DOBBIES
The Dobbie’s buying team obviously hasn’t seen The Last Of Us, because if they had this would never had made it to the shelves of their tasteful, middle-class garden centre gift shop.
Still, despite how hideous it looks, the product description couldn’t be cheerier. ‘From learning to pasteurise your substrate to enjoying your harvest, we’ve got you covered!’ says the product description, and thank God that’s covered because my substrate hasn’t been pasteurised for months. I also notice this is in the ‘Gifts for Her’ section. Perhaps because it’s pink and looks a bit like fannies?
VERDICT: Mulch of a mushness
SQUIRREL WORKTOP PROTECTOR, NOTCUTT’S GARDEN CENTRE
Ah, now this is what I expect to see in a garden centre gift shop. They all seem to have a deal with a talentless watercolourist who pumps out insipid badgers, Highland cows, gerbils and hares for use on a variety of homewares. These items have a doomed quality, as if they somehow already know they’ll end up as a raffle prize, or regifted to Sheila from Choir for her 63rd birthday. This worktop protector (ie: a flimsy chopping board that’s not fit for purpose) features a hopeless picture of a squirrel that looks like Kramer in Seinfeld surrounded by turds, I mean pine cones.
VERDICT: Oh that’s lovely, thank you so much *quietly slips it into a drawer forever*
NEON LIGHT, WEBB’S GARDEN CENTRE
Don’t we all just want to Be Hgopng? You maybe didn’t think hgopngness could be bought, but it can, from Webb’s Garden centre, with branches in West Hagley and Frilford in Oxfordshire! This snazzy neon statement light just proves that garden centres are now cool places to be, rather than hangars full of people called Rita looking for ducks with their name on them.
VERDICT: Dont worgny
NODDING DOG PLANTER, COOPER’S OF STORTFORD
If this was a real dog, it would be having a nice final meal of chicken and rice and being quietly and respectfully transported to the vets in the morning. However, it’s a novelty planter, so if you’re amused by French bulldogs with obvious brain injuries, this is the ideal gift for you. (I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to miss garden centres that just sold plants.)
VERDICT: Doggone
STONE GARDEN ORNAMENTS, EVERGREEN’S GARDEN CENTRE
And finally, Evergreens Garden Centre calls itself ‘Hull’s Best Kept Secret’. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep it a secret though, because their garden sculptures, like this unholy mash-up of Gromit and Colin the Caterpillar, should be in the Louvre.
VERDICT: HELP
THING: Nairn’s Marmite and cheese oatcakes
I’ve written before about oatcakes, because I am FASCINATING. (Why are there so many of them in a pack? Are you actually meant to eat 7 in one go??) But I always thought they were pretty pedestrian things. I mean, you can’t get excited about them, can you? They’re just there, like a bathmat or a plug socket.
But this is the 2020s, and division is de rigeur, so here comes Marmite to kick off the 2024 Oatcake Wars. Which side are you on? LOVE IT OR HATE IT YOU’VE GOT TO TRY IT the packet screams, in the kind of confrontational language previously unknown in the world of oatcakes. Although it gives me thrush and melts my teeth, I happen to like Marmite, but I’m tiring of its assertion that it’s the ultimate litmus test for all human tastes. It’s like a tattoo that says ‘if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.’ Get over yourself, mate, you’re just brown runny spread made from yeast.
Still, I was curious. Would Marmite’s polarising savoury tang be diluted by the thundering tedium of the oatcake? Would bringing cheese along to the party be a good idea, or would it be like inviting the Archbishop of Canterbury to Coachella?
Anyway, I tried them and they tasted like the burnt bits on a Breville after you’ve made a cheese toastie. The world didn’t explode, and armies of Marmite haters didn’t descend on my house with pitchforks. They were just okay. I wonder what would happen if you put Marmite and cheese ON them, though?
VERDICT: UMAMIGEDDON
Every time Jimmy makes me go to Rouken Glen garden centre (which he LOVES), I find myself going all floppy and dragging my feet, like a teenager forced into a museum
Superb. And shout-out to the Oxfordshire Garden Centre Massive, yo-yo-yo- ooh, Yellow Tree Peonies