Perrywoods is my FoMO

Essex University Psychology department discovered a Social Media phenomenon a few years ago that they labelled FoMO, or Fear of Missing Out. Obviously, the anxiety that people feel when they suspect everyone is having more fun than they are isn't new but with Facebook, Twitter and Instagram people are suffering this weird anxiety more than ever before. The Essex University researchers devised a way of measuring someone's FoMO.

Do I suffer from FoMO?

I look at Facebook a lot. I think this is mainly because my phone pings everytime someone comments or likes something I've written and also because I'm incredibly nosey. I am also compelled to read everything. I can't tell you how many times I've read the latest Buzzfeed list of things you know if you are from Essex article. I decided to do the quiz at www.ratemyfomo.com and it agrees with me. 

I'm somewhere in the middle. Normal.  Do you hear that? NORMAL!!!!!

Occasionally, though,  something does catch me. I see a status and my palms go sweaty, my phone falls from my hand, my rib cage struggles to contain the throbbing mess that my heart has become. "Why haven't I done that?" I wonder. 

When I get these feelings, I try to stay rational. I remind myself that I could either do those things or that I wouldn't enjoy them anyway. The latter often happens with pictures of food (which is why I don't do Instagram - I would be huge). I can't tell you how many times I've got excited about a plate of fish or Rick Stein's seafood restaurant before realising that the smell and taste of anything slightly aquatic turns my stomach. 

For several years now Perrywoods has been my main FoMO. I have tried to ignore the anxiety.

I rationalised.

 Of course, I'm not missing out on anything. It's just a garden centre. It's probably really expensive. What is the deal with coffee shops at garden centres anyway? Just get home to get those plants in and the weeds dealt with. Sitting around drinking coffee when courgettes need watering. How ridiculous. 

This summer, though, I didn't get any little bedding plants early in the season to grow on and although the allotment is fine, (Actually, it's not fine; It's been a terrible year.) the garden was looking a bit plain. "Can't you get some colour in this garden?" complained the Long Suffering Husband. He had a point.

We took a trip to several garden centres that I usually go to; the ones that sell small bedding plants cheaply or the best seed potatoes. I felt like Mother Hubbard. The greenhouses were bare. "When should you have done this then?" the LSH scolded. We fell back exhausted and decided that next year would be better. 

Monday and the LSH was back at work, so I persuaded my son to come with me to fulfil my curiosity about Perrywoods. We wandered around, asked advice, tried swing chairs, looked at pizza ovens, marvelled at the number and quality of the plants and their one year guarantee.

The excitement was too much so we decided to have lunch before filling the car with plants and pots and compost. 

The LSH can't believe that Perrywinkles (as he insists on calling it) is as good as we say it is. Then again, he doesn't do any social media, so how would he know what he's missing out on?