Readers of a nervous disposition may not wish to read on….
It’s truly awful that anyone could inflict such sufferings on one of the Ken’s horticultural cousins, and yet he finds that he has to look upon scenes of torture every day.
Flowers and foliage, chopped off at the feet and stuffed into a glass torture chamber filled with acidified water, and left in a centrally heated cell to slowly die – a long and painful death, with only oblivion in the dustbin as a twisted sort of salvation in prospect. This is the source of the awful screaming, day and night, that fills Ken’s foliar ears. It’s enough to make his sap boil, but all he can do is sit and watch it all from his terracotta prison on the floor.
It’s left him a broken plant, traumatised and damaged. No palm should ever have to witness such suffering.