At the village festival* my daughter El won, on the tombola, a jar of frankfurters, a jar of pickled sliced cucumbers and a tin of spaghetti hoops. She was not impressed and they did not travel back to London with her on the train.
Ro spotted them tonight and enquired. I explained that there was no danger that any of them would be on the family menu any time soon. “But what are you going to do with them?” “Put them on the next bring & buy stall.” “What, and be seen?”
He’s right, I’ll have to sneak them on anonymously. Call me a food snob, but the first on a depressing list of ingredients on the frankfurter label is mechanically recovered chicken.
Call Ro a food snob too – he said that El had won another tin of spaghetti and had given it to the raffle. “Mind you, at least it was edible. Well, barely – wasn’t even Heinz.”
*She asked me what was the difference between a village fête and a festival. I explained, it was the presence of the beer tent.