Always I have hugged trees. Even as a small child I hugged them…all varieties mind…for there is nothing like communing with nature in my book. In point of fact nothing can match the feeling of bare skin on bark…the silver birch especially.
My parents thought me most odd. Pater would often say to me, ‘Jessica, you really do get on my tits with all that bloody tree hugging you know. Why not be like the other kids and go play in the road darling.’ We lived only a short distance from the busy M25 motorway at the time.
Mater called me an insipid, wearisome dullard with alarming regularity until the day she advised, “Jessica my dear, it’s no more tofu for you my girl until you stop this tree hugging malarkey. Even the neighbours are talking about you, and this is posh Surrey after all. We have our standards here.” It wasn’t long before mater gave up on me. Earplugs, blindfolds, a gag and a straitjacket meant she could neither hear, see, speak with me nor touch me anymore.
And then the final straw came when pater took a chainsaw to all the trees in our vast garden. I was bereft I can tell you. Still that event prompted me to leave home and get a job as a trainee tree surgeon. It was there that I met Keith, the love of my life. However, after 6 years of courtship and what with him constantly begging…sometimes on his knees…to, as he put it, ‘get his leg across’ our relationship faltered then collapsed. Once again, I was near suicidal when he left me for Tulip Spelt-Soya the eco-warrior from the rough suburbs where the poor people live. She was as common as muck and had never caressed let alone hugged a tree in her life.
It was then I turned to writing poetry by way of a therapy of sorts. I recently wrote a verse regarding my experiences on that horrible Facebook place where no one has a rapport with trees. I shall share my musings with you now.
The snap of the cake I posted
For my Facebook friends to see
Got such a poor reception
It will be the death of me
Sammy wrote that it was crap
And Alice commented ‘shit’
John clicked ‘like’ on Alice
And said for eating it was unfit
That he wouldn’t feed it to his dogs
Or even his mother-in-law
And added rather hurtfully
That I was a fucking bore
And as for the photo of my Nan
I thought it nice to share
Yet my bestest friend named Jenny
Said she would suit the electric chair
And then there was my selfie
Which I thought made me look quite nice
Yet my Aunt Maud did message me
And passed on her advice
She told me to go get a life
In a place that’s far from here
Or it would be even better still
If I could just disappear
Why can I never find love?
What have I done to irk most people thus?
And why is it that even the local vicar
Wished to see me run over by a bus?
My dilemma persists so I’ve decided again to attempt to end it all. This will be my 48th venture in that regard. I’ve never had a great deal of luck when it comes to self-destruction. Anyhow, I’ve read somewhere that an overdose of alfalfa, clover, haricot beans, chickpeas, lentils, lupins, mesquite, carob, soybeans, peanuts and tamarind should make for a sticky end so that should do the trick.
I’m just off for a final tree hug. I am minded to seek out a sycamore this time.