Most people would remember their trip to the Royal Horticultural Society's Wisley Gardens with a certain fondness .... maybe for the riot of colour sprouting from the herbaceous borders or the neatly manicured lawns.
I will remember it for the hour I spent knee deep in other people's baked beans looking for my youngest son's brace which we'd inadvertently left on the cafe table only to be cleared unwittingly by a member of staff after we'd departed.
Half way back up the M3 , youngest son asks me if I remembered to pick up his brace. About turn to Wisley. An hour later, having trawled through 18 bin bags full of food waste destined for something called a macerator, I emerged semi triumphant having found only half of it.
Half an hour later I'd managed to locate the other half back out on the cafe terrace. As I punched the air in triumph a loud cheer erupted from the remaining diners. Head throbbing and covered in tea leaves I re-joined the rest of my party waiting patiently in the car park. Fortunately I was allowed back in the car despite looking like a tramp and smelling like a school dinner.
Two days later I was still finding stray tea leaves. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to eat another baked potato with baked beans nor visit Wisley without breaking into a sweat.
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