The little economy fish-finger is up to her old tricks again.
I've written about the green-digit goblin in the past.
She has form when it comes to the sexualisation of our multi media world.
I don't mind Carol Klein or Monty Don getting a little jiggy in the strawberry patch, IF (and only IF) it serves a purpose, and does not refer to genitalia or readers' wives.
But Fowler has gone too far this weekend.
Yet again.
She starts her Guardian Weekend supplement piece by informing us that she pops off to the shed to look at her secret stash of 'Garden Porn'.
Apparently she gets off at looking at pics of bushes in full bloom.
Now, I'm all for a hirsute leylandi, but I don't think this warrants being referred to as 'porn'.
Editorial work immediately goes online these days, so imagine the horror of a part-time gardener entering (and I use that word carefully) search terms into his or her Google, and coming up with an article about pornography.
Amateur + Gardener + Tool + Muck + Redhead + Snow + Muff = moral minefield.
Fowler goes on to say she wishes she didn't have to resort to 'Garden Porn' because she prefers the real thing.
I would go on to say that the 'real thing' is probably indoors, in the warm, waiting for her to stop going blind in the potting-shed.
I would further go on to say "Bring Back Mary Whitehouse".
I've had just about enough of this commodification of Mother Nature, and her feminine wiles.
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