Pav’s Patch; Will you explain the power of flowers?

I MAY have a degree, but one thing that has always escaped me is what people — especially women — see in flowers.

If someone upset me badly, it would take more than a bunch of coloured, sweet-smelling weeds to smooth things over.

All right, flowers can occasionally look nice, but I really don’t see what the point is. What service do they perform at weddings, funerals and the like . . . other than to line the pockets of florists?

If somebody dies, how do flowers improve the situation?

I’ve organised two funerals in my time, and there was hardly a flower in sight at either. It was costing me enough for the wooden boxes.

And, if I might digress for a moment, I’ll always remember that when I was looking at the coffin catalogue for the old chap, the undertaker put on a concerned face, touched my arm, and said: “I recommend that one. It’ll last you a long time.”

It was only after he’d gone that I thought: “Last a long time? It’ll be 6ft under for the rest of eternity. Isn’t the idea that it rots away, dust to dust and all that?”

But back to flowers. I was off work recently and, due to the bad weather, spent much of the time watching the Olympics. Why is it that the men who win medals get presented with flowers?

I’d feel a complete spare part if someone gave me flowers. I’d probably hand them to the nearest pretty lady. But what would she do with them? What do pensioners do with them?

There is a reason for my feelings. Many years ago, I went out with a girl and immediately became smitten. I immediately resolved that she should be the future Mrs Pav.

I forget how long we were together — about 157 days — but during that time she celebrated her 21st birthday and I decided to splash out and arranged for 21 red roses to be delivered to her house at great expense to my good self.

This was seriously romantic stuff and when the great day arrived I bobbed round after work expecting to be showered with hugs and kisses, or even something better . . . like tea and buns.

But strangely, there was nothing. So I decided to try to prod things along.

“Er, there’s a surprise for you in the other room,” I said tentatively, bracing myself for the goodies that must surely follow from a girl swept off her feet.

“Oh those roses,” she replied matter-of-factly, “I’ve seen them. Ta.”

And you wonder why I’m bitter.