plague journal 5 gardening for beginners

Summer snow blossoming in my garden.
I don't know the real name for these flowers but my Aunty Mary from Mayo calls them Summer snow so Summer snow they are.
The Dad sowed a patch a few decades ago.
I've been inclined to let it run wild since then.
I like things on a flowing oceanic poetic scale.
Lovely white flowers draping the sward in a cloak of glory.
They can last for a month or two.
We should be okay as long as the Brig doesn't spot them.
The hedge cutting Brig has spent most of his life sorting out various world hotspots but has latterly discovered an interest in horticulture particularly as it pertains to the tree perimetre of my garden.
Gawdelpus/
In his previous career he did a few non gardening type jobs for the United Nations in Lebanon.
Things went so well there that they put him in charge of something in the Golan Heights.
I mean I don't want to go casting no aspoyshuns but is it just possible that the Brig is the cause of the Middle East conflict?
You know, I've grown so accustomed to routinely blaming the Muslim proxy terror armies massed on Israel's borders for every act of terror Muslim proxy terror armies commit. Less inspired commentators a la Robert Fisk seem inclined to blame the Israelis for everything
Muslim terrorists do. But what we are all missing is the common denominator of the presence of the Brigadier in all this.
Imagine if they'd put me in charge of a UN battle group or two.
I'd have brought my sublime theories into play about measured symbiotic indolence as a key to conflict resolution, ie doing nothing being the best policy as per my recently UN interdicted ten year symbiosis with the rampant tree hedge in my garden.
I can see it clearly.
I'd have spent years learning Arabic and Hebrew at informal language exchanges, converting now to one now to another religion depending on whatever girl I'd met in the street that day, and then asking the Catholic Church to take me back (We wouldn't - Pope Francis the heretic note.) (We might - Pope Benedict the real Pope note.) and trying to make friends with all sides, and eventually maybe just maybe entering a sensual, sexual, illicit, bittersweet, wishful thinking relationship with Nosecksa Bint Al Mufti, beautiful daughter of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, giving me opportunities for one liners like: "Now that's what I call a Mufti," before they cut my head off.
(Your head? - Al Qaeda note.)
Ah me, I fondly dream.
Seriously though.
Isn't it about time the UN sent me somewhere?