Sunday, June the 2nd, 2013
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“Allahu Akbar!” I shout, as I deadhead the roses. I am an Islamic gardener. The gardens I tend are based upon Islamic principles, and contain not a whiff of kaffir filth. No woman shall ever besmirch the gravel paths between the flower beds. And whenever a bloom sprouts atop a green stalk, I take my combination scimitar-and-secateurs and lop it off, in praise of Allah.
The only plants I allow to flourish are varieties of Old Man's Beard, including Chionanthus virginicus, a tree both medicinal and ornamental, Clematis aristata, an Australian climbing plant, Clematis vitalba, another climbing plant, Tillandsia usneoides, or Spanish moss, a bromeliad, and Usnea, a type of lichen. Because they vaguely resemble an old man's beard, they are suitably Islamic.
Occasionally I am mistaken for a hippy gardener, Steve Hillage of Gong with a spade in place of a guitar. I have been told we are like two peas in a pod. But there are no peas in my gardens, because peapods do not have beards.
Steve Hillage : not an Islamic fundamentalist