How do you define an addiction? I think I’m addicted to solar lights. All the signs are there.
It started a few years ago, when I decided that our wooden garden swing would look great in the dark if it had some solar lights wrapped around the frame. I love my swing, as it reminds me of my childhood in Finland, so naturally I wanted to emphasize this magnificent piece of garden furniture, displaying my heritage.
Did I choose stylish clear lights? Of course not! I elected to buy multicoloured colour changing lights that now twinkle at the bottom of my garden every night. Fair enough. Hubby approved as he knew how much I loved my swing. That is what you do in a multicultural marriage; you accept your other half’s “funny little things”.
Then a couple of years ago, I spotted some solar lights on spikes in the local pound shop. By the way, you might have noticed an emerging pattern here, I’m nowadays shopping in Lidl and pound shops like a true Gravesendian! Anyway, I decided to buy a selection of these marvellous affordable lights to dot around my plant pots.
But this year I think my addiction has spiralled out of control. I have discovered another “affordable” shop, Dunelm, a homeware shop, where I earlier this year bought a selection of new bed linen for our house. Dream of my delight, when I discovered that they do a vast range of garden items, including solar lights!
So like a true addicted person, I drove to Dunelm without telling my husband and purchased some items. I bought another set of multicoloured string lights (this time not colour changing!) that I wrapped around a bush at the bottom of the garden, a set of clear bird shaped string lights that I wrapped around a bush near the patio as well as a solar light topiary plant for the patio. I snuck them all out, set them up and hid the boxes, waiting excitedly for dusk to fall.
What was I thinking? Did I not think hubby was going to notice them? Of course he did.
“Bloody hell!” hubby exclaimed that night. “It looks like we’ve got a fairground in our garden! Oh, wait! I think I can see a man selling popcorn at the back of our garden!”
Of course there was no popcorn seller, but I think I might have taken it a bit too far. I must stop. This time I can’t even blame my Finnish heritage.