#melon shrub

Plant of the Day

Sunday 5 July 2026

A half-hardy perennial shrub Solanum muricatum (melon pear, melon shrub, pepino dulce, pepino) requires a long growing season to ripen the fruit properly. In the U.K. a warm glasshouse or polytunnel is ideal where the egg-shaped fruits can be protected from frost.

Ian Flint picked up his satchel and no-name e-reader. He’d showered thoroughly for this day and he needed to relax on the bus; for this, the e-reader was crucial. His reading plan included The Guardian and The Tipping Point. He knew he was getting to it too late, but the idea still appealed. It was time for another internship, unpaid, but full of the sort of potential that his most successful cousin demonstrated in every second until his decision to join the after-work drinkers.

Ian completed the usual embarrassment of nervously asking the receptionist about the floor he should head up to and the poor security procedures that were required. The receptionist had such a neutral look to her, her eyes barely watching him, and her frown barely relating to him. He took the lift to the fourth floor and met the second receptionist in the line, she wasn’t neutral, probably an intern, definitely a girl with a reason to smile and a need to sulk. Beautiful though.

The office was intensely open plan. One of those where you wonder how the roof stands. The large, clusters of desks were vaguely arranged in an inner and outer circle. Ian liked to think that he could feel the multitude of wireless networks bouncing around the room, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t that potent. The second receptionist introduced Ian to his guide. His name was Carter. Ian thought about a basketball player and Michael Caine before shaking the hand of the man who seemed already, to be an office deity. The general feeling that offices are places for mediocrity is wrong. The idea that they’re gynocracies or places for paternal figures to disappoint is also wrong. They are a place for submission and domination, in that order. Ian learnt this in his late thirties, when he managed his way into a threesome with a young couple trying to provide his company with ‘good’ PR. That was the point when he made the transition, or perhaps when he realised it. At his brother’s funeral, years after the threesome, he clearly indicated to his grieving nephew, Adam: ‘You’re born, you’re dominated, you dominate, you’re dominated, you die. But not your father, mate, he skipped the second period of being dominated. I think I’m headed for it.’

In his early twenties, on the fourth floor of a transparent office building, Ian was ready for his first submission. Carter carried him through the office on a drift of superiority and potential. Ian met similar interns, in fact (he realised slowly), they were all interns. Carter would describe each intern’s background and latest antics, pairing Bristol University and bad hangovers, UCL and MDMA, and Exeter and bad sex. Carter’s openness matched the office plan. This was perfect for Ian, he even loved his desk, a piece of furniture that had tired him through his secondary and tertiary educations.

Carter was a tall man, into the six foots. He probably had board shorts under his jeans and he’d probably been the social media guy before the whole ruse died. Ian was in awe. Here was a man with a bunch of interns and a really great startup idea. The startup idea, as Ian saw it, revolved around consulting on youth internet use, telling companies how their content, applications and brand is perceived by the people who are getting ready to shape the next generation. Brilliant. Carter dropped him at his desk, shaking his hand in a post-firm style.   ‘Now Ian. Log in using your first name for the user nameand surname for the password. You’ll be prompted to enter a new password. Do that. For today, just get on the internet and trawl what you usually trawl. If you could use Internet Explorer that would be great. We’re feeding back to Microsoft on some bits and pieces. Just focus on doing what you usually do for today, we can talk about mods and upsell tomorrow. If you find any barriers, skip round them.’

Ian used the internet for the remainder of the day. Soviet architecture consumed most of his time, as did some email correspondence with his uncle, and some memes. At the end of the day, Carter approached Ian’s desk.    ‘Good first day? Nice surfing by the way.’   ‘You were watching?’     ‘Not really, just some click stats, liked your rhythm. I don’t care at all about what you’re looking at but how. I want you to indulge yourself. I don’t always reveal it in such stark terms. People sometimes bolt at the idea of it, but I want you to look at the internet naturally and if that means things that would normally be unsuitable for the workplace, do it.’    ‘Ok. Well it’s definitely an interesting startup idea. I like how everything feels if you know what I mean?’    ‘I know what you mean. We try and keep things chilled. Now go home and get off the internet ya waster.’    ‘We’ll see. Thanks, Carter.’  Ian rolled out of the office on a high. He was at the forefront. As he reached the revolving doors at the front of the office, the second receptionist caught up with him.   ‘Hey, Ian. Good first day?’    ‘Hi. Sorry I didn’t really speak to you earlier, I was a bit nervous.’    ‘I could tell. You were cute, in a way. How was your first day? What do you think of Carter?’    ‘He’s interesting. Seems quite popular.’    ‘He’s definitely interesting, not in a demure way, in that sort of step-brother way. He’s a good guy though.’   ‘So, are you interning?’ They left the building. She was cute. Ignoring his question, she turned. ‘Let’s go for a drink.’