First up this week, an apology.
I am sorry.
There, I’ve said it. Read into that what you will. The gentleman that has sparked this wanton outpouring of regret, the gentleman that yesterday threatened and intimidated me loudly, aggressively – in fact furiously – will not know precisely what I am sorry for, because the full text of my apology has been written and subsequently deleted, from this blog at least. I am not going to get drawn into the kind of foaming, spittle-flecked exchange that he obviously gets his kicks from, as his kind of verbal terrorism has no place in a civilised society that values free speech and tolerance. I simply will not have any part of it, sir.
So, again – I am sorry. But not what you think I ought to be sorry for.
And with that, we’ll move on to a life more chilled, in fact more chillied.
Having said that I’m going to move on…I am somewhat dismayed by the election results that have come out over the last few days. I don’t hold a great deal of love for any major political party, working on the theory that MP/MEPs are either:
- Career politicians with no knowledge of real life
- Eton poshos with no knowledge of real life
- Junket junkies with no knowledge of real life
- Decent honest people that have been caught up in the helter-skelter of Westminster and have therefore lost touch with real life
So really – Nigel Farage is our best hope? Here’s what I found in my dictionary:
buf·foon
[buh–foon]
Noun.
1. Nigel Farage
2. Boris Johnson
3. The Chilli Hobbit, especially after a few adult beverages
Would you really want any of these people running the show? I wouldn’t vote for me, I know what I’m like 🙂
(Gets off soap box…which is a shame really as it’s the only way I can reach stuff).
So it was mega-busy at the Chilli Farm last week. As Jamie’s at the Royal Bath & West Show this week we were on double shifts to cook enough supplies. Much cooking, bottling, labelling and swearing was undertaken as we did our best to make sure our detailed estimates on stock requirements (not finger in the air guesstimates, honest) have been met. We think we got it right…not sure though…time will tell.
The weekend, with the exception of what shall forever be know as ‘The Oxbow Incident’ referred to above, was a blast. Saturday was a Royal Wootton Bassett day, Sunday was Bath Green 
Street, and Monday was Salisbury International Market (complete with a race car for some reason). All busy, sporadically dry, occasionally windy, amusing incidents aplenty and many, many tasters of God Slayer suffering the after-effects. It never ceases to 
amaze me how many people taste it, recoil in napalm and lava-fuelled shock, then say something to the effect of ‘bugger me that’s tasty, I must have one’! It’s a remarkable testament to the endorphin rush created by the chemicals in chillies as well as the fantastic tastes that Dr Jamie creates in his laboratory kitchen.
The Pink Chilli Hobbit has returned from a lovely week on the Isle of Mull and gone straight back into the coal face, or as close a coal face as Bradford on Avon can muster. She received a visit from a couple from New Orleans, on their hollybobs in the glorious rain of the UK, who were mightily impressed with the Chipotle Chilli Sauce and bought some to take home with them – to show Louisiana how it really should be done 🙂
It’s a busy couple of weeks, we all have lots of events – and BIG events. As I mentioned above, Jamie’s at the Royal Bath & West over the next few days; also this week we’re in Frome, Bath, Swindon, Oxford, Marlborough, Bristol, Lechlade, Evesham and Kenwood House in London. We’ll need a bit of a lie down after all of that.
Well, a hobbit can’t live on chocolate chip cookies and Planet Rock alone (try though I might). It’s time I located the kitchen and pretended to cook. The authorities have been warned.
Laters!
The one thing that was markedly different from Thame was that my renewed lollipop supply remained firmly in place, although it was severely depleted by the end of the weekend. Maybe it’s my sign that helped keep the felons away!
On the subject of creakiness I can confirm that I’m not cut out for a career at the front line of horticulture. I spent last Wednesday at the Farm helping with planting and other such deeply green-fingered activities, and even though it only a half days’ effort on my part I can safely say that I have not ached so much in a very long time. Despite being closer to the ground than most (a fact pointed out by Jamie before he was threatened with a broom-shaped enema) the mere act of repeatedly bending down to insert green things into brown stuff led to me later uttering the full range of old man noises…on getting up out of the chair…sitting down on the chair…getting into the car…out of the car…in fact, pretty much any movement at all. Kudos to the regular heavy lifters at the farm, Simon and Aaron, not sure how they do it. My late Dad, who often despaired of my total ineptitude in a gardening environment, must have been looking down on me from above, chuckling quietly to himself.
Normal people would, of course, have added just a chilli or two – maybe as many as ‘a few’ to the vodka. Not our Jamie, heavens no, nothing so half-hearted. Now far be it from me to suggest that Jamie is on a mission to inflict real pain on the inhabitants of our sceptered isle, but I tasted the results – just the tiniest amount, barely enough to call it a tasting really – and damn near passed out on the spot. I’m glad I didn’t try a proper shot of it or I strongly suspect my insides would have become my outsides, and at some considerable speed. Quite, quite extraordinary, and not a little combustible. Probably the hottest thing I have ever tasted.
unday saw a first for me at Frome’s Independent Market. Now I’m not sure what I expected having never been before, but it a lot bigger than I’d anticipated and consequently was very, very busy. Having mastered the slope I did a brisk trade all day, and am looking forward to returning next month.
The Chilli Hobbit 