Blimey, doesn’t time fly? It only seems like yesterday since I was wobbling on about skunks and teacups and stuff, but it’s been nearly a month. A month of more box unpacking, lots of Christmas planning, lots of arguments and lots of miles covered in the pursuit of the chilli dollar.
So what’s been irking yours truly this month? Well, first and foremost was the product I saw for sale at a show a few weeks back. Now I’m all for a bit of license being allowed with the English language in the interests of making your product stand out from the crowd, but there is a line. And that line, ladies and gentlemen, was not so much crossed as barreled past at warp 9.9 when I noticed a fruit-based milk drink being sold as a mylkshake. Yep, that’s a y. Should bloody well be an i, and all right-thinking English speakers will be with me on that one, especially my compatriots in the hardcore pedantry front. No excuse for it, it’s just so very, very wrong. I see marshmellows being sold regularly as well, and I cringe every time I see the sign. I want to go over to their stall and write ‘3/10, see me after class’ on their A-board.
You’ll remember that I had a bit of a rant about doggy hats in my last post. Well, I have another fashion item to add to the list of Things That Simply Should Not Exist. I was at the Bath Cats & Dogs Home Fun Day, which was basically a dog show with gazebos – lots of running round in the rain jumping through hoops, being judged for the waggliest tail competition, winning prizes for having the dangliest bollocks – and that was just the stallholders. Anyway, I was next to a stall selling – among other things – doggy bandanas. Really…bandanas? On a dog? See, this is why I like cats…try to put a cat in a bandana and you’ll never play the violin again.
I’ve been trying to cozy up to the TV elite since last time we spoke, but most of the celebs at the Big Feastival weren’t interested in talking to plebs like me. Monica Galetti looked quite startling with blonde hair, Jamie Oliver stood on the tables and ponced around doing his ‘look at me I’m a Cock…sorry…Mockney’ cheeky chappie routine, and Adam Henson was as plain-speaking and down-to-earth as you’d expect him to be. Of the three only Adam Henson stayed past his contracted 30 minutes of hogging the limelight to chat to anyone, but I was too busy with customers to get any stalker-type selfies. Ah well, maybe next year.
My mind, as we know, works in mysterious ways. I was next to one of the lovely Glamorose cupcake ladies the other week in Swindon admiring her wares (the cupcakes, honest) when she described the tiffin brownie as having lots of tiffin-y bits in it. Now although I’ve led a very sheltered upbringing, for some reason I had visions of a slightly ragged, over-used and aging actress in…ahem…’exotic’ films called Tiffany Bitz. And of course, this being Swindon, I was reminded of the legendary Swindonian actress Lola Vavoom, whose monument I have yet to visit.*
Talking of actresses, when did they all become actors? I’m all for equality, nothing against women (I should be so lucky) but what was so wrong with the word actress? It seems that you’re not allowed to use the feminine version of the word any more, as if it’s a derogatory term or something. I don’t get it…anyone can now be an actor it seems, but it takes a special kind of person to become an actress – only half of the population can do it! It’s political correctness gone mad I tell you. I blame Jeremy Corbyn, that’s a sound place to start these days.
On the Christmas front, we’re preparing…and cooking…and cooking…my God, are we cooking. The store room at the farm looks like a really crap game of Tetris…more and more stuff comes in but doesn’t quite fit into the space that we have left for it…until we cook some more and create some space that we then fill with what we’ve just cooked! It’s a logistical nightmare, but we’re planning meticulously to fit quarts into pint pots, squeeze a few more crates in here and there, and somehow…somehow…have enough stock for Christmas.
But before then, we have some important news…wait, I’m not allowed to tell our readers? Really? Oh, you’re no fun…
* Top marks if you even have the faintest clue what I’m talking about there, by the way.
Cats aren’t really friendly, they’re just cozying up to the dominant life-form as a hedge against extinction.
Jasper Fforde, The Last Dragonslayer