Today a small triumph; I managed to wrestle a single carnation into a respectable cellophane cone, tie a florist’s bow and attach it to said cone. Trust me, this is NOT for the faint hearted or stiff fingered. It is a humble start, but I’m completely hooked.
I have ten classmates, the youngest is 19, and I’m happy to say, I’m not the oldest carnation wrestler. Our classroom sits on a hill in native bush, overlooking a bay. But lest that sounds too romantic, our toilet is in a shed and has a single outside cold tap to wash our hands in. Temperatures this week have not managed to get into double digits, so a visit to the shed is done in nanoseconds.
Glamour school this ain’t.
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