In my book fakes aren’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m not averse to the odd spray tan (provided
the needle doesn’t tip towards the TOWIE end of the scale), my hair is quite
used to a helping hand in the colour department and I think I can confidently
say the orange handbag I bought in that Chinese market is not a genuine
‘Birkin’ (the fact it began shedding its skin in the manner of a snake on a
growth spurt should have been a giveaway).
And then there’s artificial grass.
I used to have quite a snooty attitude about this. “Pah!” I
thought. “Never!” I thought. But I shall
never say never again (not that it’s wise to live life entirely by Bond movie
titles; whilst diamonds are forever, the world really ought to be enough for anyone
and I know Buddhists will disagree but I’m fairly sure you only live once).
So yes, I have softened towards artificial grass. And before you get cross with me, I don’t
mean in all circumstances, but there are times when it’s a good option.
Take the project I finished last week. A day nursery right
in the centre of Peterborough. Convenient?
Yes. A green oasis? Not exactly.
In fact the garden consisted of a modest-sized space between two tall
buildings, bordering a car park and a street and laid to concrete – enticing
Oh, and the brief (that really should have been delivered by
Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen in ruffled shirt and suitably theatrical arm gestures) was
“natural with a hint of magic”
Well, guess what - turf doesn’t grow on concrete, you can’t
put a safety surface under turf, turf doesn’t grow well in shade and turf
cannot be cut into pretty rolling hill shapes and glued to the wall or used to
cover the roofing felt on your playhouses and bins. Artificial grass on the
So there you have it. Some fakes are good. Although to be
fair, not in the handbag department.