VISITORS to St Mary’s this week have felt the full force of flower power.

The abundance of roses growing in the area surrounding the church are blooming marvelous. Visitors from far and wide have commented on the sweet and sublime scent of the flowers as well as marveling at their riot of colour.

One passer-by who always takes the time to stop and smell the roses, is semi-professional long-distance runner Johnny Turnip.

The flower loving endurance athlete told the Chronicle he was in his oils to discover the summer-soaked garden of delights at St Mary’s.

Turnip barked, “Like most British towns in high summer, Abergavenny isn’t easy on the nose.

Exhausts spitting, muck spreading, the creeping smell of sewerage being expelled into the Usk, and the mingled aroma of rotting takeaways and stale Paco Rabanne can all conspire to make a soul giddy with nausea.

“Fortunately when the warm Southern breeze blows it carries all that is foul and toxic out of Abergavenny and in the direction of where it’ll feel more at home. I’m talking about Newport. But enough said about that place the better.

“Anyhow, I was out on me usual early-morning run last week, when I decided to pop into Morrisons and buy some ribs of fire, a bag of white chocolate chip cookies and a crafty can of Gin and Tonic to wash that sumptuous snack down with. I usually like to take me elevenses on the curb outside the bus station toilet and watch the trade go by, but on this occasion I was bushwhacked by the roses as I walked past St Mary’s.”

Turnip added, “Man that smell was ripe, but in a really good way. I went straight over to the flowers, stuck my face in and inhaled deeply like I was Tony Montana with a big bag of posh.

“It was a natural high. Like smelling God’s very own aftershave. The scent of the roses really put the zip back in my stride and the boogie in my blood. Immediately after I ran straight up the little Skirrid. I powered up there just like Rocky flying up the 72 steps of Philly. I even managed to do 250 squat thrusts on top before thundering back down like a pit pony.”

Turnip is now urging everyone to visit the roses before they wilt and die.

“That heavenly bloom won’t last forever folks. Their fizz and froth is already waning,” explained Turnip.

“The people responsible for brightening up this little corner of Aber need to be applauded. As my Puerto Rican running coach from Merthyr, Two-Stripe Tony, always said, 'Why tip-toe through the tulips when you can ramble through the roses.'”