For undisclosed reasons, as I left the UK for my on my tour of the French Alps this summer, the last thing I picked up was a pineapple plant.
Safely strapped into the front seat, the Pineapple plant snook through French customs.
In Chamonix he gazed at the Christmas cake mountains, spiky peaks sprinkled in icing sugar.
In L’Argentiere-la-Bessee, we ferried kayaks and people around the raging rivers and he was eagerly cuddled by topless men.
When we towed another van for the first time, the emotional support pineapple plant was there to offer his energising embrace.
We returned to the UK Border, and the bored police forced suspicions about every van they could. I was pulled over. “Why, err, what’s what?” “- It’s a pineapple plant officer.” It may have just been light on the windscreen, but I swear the plant twinkled mischievously at the officer with a I-am-not-the-salad-you’re-looking-for.
With an irritable nod, we were sent on our way to roam freely like every pineapple plant is brought into the world to do.
Originally posted on this post on Instagram
