(This tale best imagined in black & white)
It is a late warm May afternoon and Sally is just about to pop to the nursery to get a few bedding plants for her pots to go on the window ledge.
It is fortunate that Sally has an 18 month old child because it means you can put the plants in the wire rack below the prams body.
There isn't any traffic on the country lane and the only noise Sally can hear is a lone tractor in the field, ploughing the soil ready for some late spring crops.
The birds sing loudly to themselves to cheer Sally and Jessica along their way.
On arrival at Mr Peeks nursery, Sally feels a little embarrassed because Mr Peeks is dozing in his chair outside the potting shed.
Trilby hat, pulled a-cock over his face with his trusty pipe resting on his lap. Old Peeks jumps with a start, and the equally dozy Lucky, Mr Peeks rather plump Border Collie, remembers that she is the first line of defence and adopts the role of guard dog with rather a weak bark that wouldn't bother a cat, let alone a burglar.
The pseudo-aggressive stance quickly turns to a warm reception as she licks the air and waggles her backside and dances as the rather peaky Mr Peeks, stands and mutters apologetically that he had only just dropped off, honest.
I would like some Geraniums please Mr Peeks, Says Sally with a cheery smile. Mr Peeks, who is by now making a fuss of your Jessica, walks into the single greenhouse and pulls a couple of trays off of the benching.
"will these do?" asks Mr Peeks. "They will do just nicely" replies Sally.
After the transaction is done Mr Peeks wife Betty wanders out of the potting shed behind the greenhouse saying, "if I had realised you were here earlier Sally I would have put the kettle on, I'll do that now", she exclaims.
Betty soon returns with the tea pot on a tray with some biscuits for Jessica and pours out three cups. Sally, Mr Peeks and Betty all sit on the bench against the office come shed absorbing the warm shed, nattering away, careless of the world around.screeeeeeeeeeech! - I am getting carried away, absorbing that imaginary spring sunshine and supping that tea. It is an age long forgotten when we could walk to a local enterprise and enjoy 5 minutes of the proprietors time.
When I was a lad, small businesses were the norm, with one person or a family eking out a living just concentrating on one particular market. Now, we might jump into a car and do a fifty mile round trip visiting two or three gardens centres in search of a couple of plants.
I so wish that the world can realise it is not right to send cut flowers or a joint of meat 3,000 miles to then be distributed around the country via a lorry.
It might be outdated dream, but small communities of small enterprises making Bread, producing vegetables and plants and the Butcher providing meat from the farm which is situated on the edge of the town is how the world should work.
It is a romantic thought and one I fear may never return but in my view, a scenario that is better for the world.