The gnome I was not buying

An original literary non-fiction-style account of finding a garden ornament at a second-hand sale.

I have always believed that a garden should contain plants. This is a firm principle, easily maintained until one meets a ceramic fisherman with a blue hat and a frankly accusatory expression. He stood between a dented watering can and a stack of exercise books. His fishing rod was missing. I felt this gave him a certain restraint.

My sister saw me examining the price label. I explained that I was checking it on behalf of somebody who might appreciate that sort of thing. She asked who. I said I had not yet decided, which was a weak answer to a strong question. The seller told us that the fisherman had been in her father's garden for twenty years. His expression suggested that he had not approved of it.

There was a chip beneath one arm. I pointed it out with the gravity of a surveyor identifying subsidence. The seller reduced the price. At this stage, I could still have walked away with my principle intact, though perhaps less interesting company for the journey home. My sister offered to carry him. I said that would not be necessary and picked him up myself.

He now stands behind the rosemary, where visitors do not notice him immediately. This is not concealment. It is a carefully considered relationship between object and planting. When my sister comes, she moves one branch so that his blue hat can be seen from the path. I replace it after she leaves, but not quite as far as before.

How does the writer use language to create a humorous account of changing taste?