The Florist Diaries
Before I became a florist, I actually used to write a lot, I worked in PR for a few years and prior to that I wrote articles and poems. I miss that, so I’m going to start writing again, some of it will be related to flowers and floristry, and some not. Strap In, I also have no idea what to expect.
As I put my snips down and hoover up the last of the pine needles I am glad wreath-making season is done, and I’m sure a lot of other florists will relate. The first one felt so good - I had a mulled wine in hand and hopped around to Wham whilst I snipped up Pine, now I’m over 20 wreaths in and The Grinch has more attractive hands than I do. Albeit, I am happy to see the wreaths adorning doors on my road and in a couple of bars in Bristol.
Bristol, incidentally, is where I call home. I moved here 8 years ago, planning to stay for a couple of months whilst I worked out what I wanted to do in life, and like so many new Bristolians, here I am 8 years later. Next year I’ll turn 30 and we’re still decorating our Edwardian terraced house, so I think Bristol can stay for a while, it still feels comfy, a bit like my walking boots, which as I tell my fiancé (ugh hate that word!) every time we go for a walk - ‘I’ve had these for 15 years and they’re still great!’.
I roll my eyes when I hear the expression that someone ‘fell into something’, but it really is the only way I can describe how I ended up in flowers. It was in the middle of the year of madness (2020 ofc), my best friend had started making clay jewellery and selling it on Etsy, it looked fun and I wanted to sell something! I ordered £100 of dried flowers, made up 3 bouquets, started an etsy page and made a logo myself, I sold all 3 bouquets the next day and then it sort of grew legs and ran away, I was up until 2am making bouquets every day, running to the post office to ship them the next day, then slipping back into my role as PR manager at a corporate agency.
Reader, there was only so long I could sustain that, and also my bedroom carpet was more pampas fluff than carpet and even my cat was sneezing. So I quit my job, rented an outdoor conservatory from a lovely family who lived nearby and, the orders stopped coming.. so as Ross in Friends said - Pivot! - and thank goodness I did, because I adore wedding flowers and quite frankly going to the Post Office every day is enough to drive anyone to madness.
Winter is such a strange time for florists, work seems to come like snow - a mad flurry and then a long gap of anticipation, awaiting another flurry. I’m not very good at not working to be honest, (don’t judge me!). I miss racing around wedding venues in my apron and then happy cheers at the pub afterwards whilst we anticipate happy beautiful photos. Dark afternoons and mornings make for strange days and I’ve got really into embroidery - unsure if this will become a hobby or just massively frustrate me yet. This week I’m trying to get better at enjoying the slow-ness of this season and work on my never-ending need to be productive to be feel happy - some of you can relate to this I’m sure. So, I’ll make another coffee, whip out the embroidery hoop and maybe sort out the wardrobe.
I’m going to end every diary entry with a flower that’s on my mind. Today it is Ranunculus, a flower that to me, looks like it’s made from tissue paper and icing, elegant and intricate. In Floriography (the secret language of flowers in the Victorian era) Ranunculus means attractiveness and charm, receiving a bouquet of these quite literally meant ‘I am dazzled by your charm’ in the Victorian times. We don’t use the word dazzle enough these days if you ask me.
Chat soon x
Ranunculus