Mr WithaY and I were at the butchers yesterday. We are fortunate to have two good local butchers in town, and I try to buy my meat from them as often as possible. They do these great deals where you can buy a sack o' meat for about 12 quid, and every time I've done it, the meat's been top quality and made some great meals.
As the butcher was wrapping up the purchases, we got chatting.
Butcher: There's your mince.
Me: Oh lovely, thank you.
Butcher: I'll wrap all these other meats up individually so you can see what's what when you get home.
Me: Thanks...otherwise it could be interesting when dinner time arrives.
Mr WithaY: Ah yes, mystery meat casserole, my favourite.
Butcher: You have to be careful. We sell pet mince (Note: Pet mince is made of minced meat, but also minced offal like lungs, hearts, livers etcetera that customers are less inclined to buy nowadays.) here, and a chap came in one day and told us that his wife had cooked it and he'd eaten it by accident. He said it was tasty, but chewy.
I was planning a review of the local paper as well, but this week it's been all about the recent loss of life overseas, so I thought I wouldn't.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-17399064
Showing posts with label local paper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label local paper. Show all posts
Friday, 16 March 2012
Thursday, 6 October 2011
In the News
I do enjoy reading our local newspaper. Not only does it feature either the Mayor, the Town Crier or representatives of the various local military units on almost every page, the headlines are reassuringly bonkers.
It's how every local newspaper should be, really. Plus, and this is quite an important point, the hilarious "no news is what we're all about" publishing ethos demonstrates how little serious crime we have on a regular basis around here. So it's funny AND reassuring.
Last week almost the entire front page was covered with the scandalous revelation that the man who has bought the derelict Town Hall building has previous convictions for failing to comply with planning regulations when renovating a different derelict building. The last two or three years have seen many and varied front page stories about how is is a disgrace - an absolute DISGRACE!- that the Town Hall remains empty and derelict. Now there's a whole new angle to be outraged about. Our gorgeous pigeon-shit-encrusted Town Hall is in the hands of someone who might renovate it without getting the final sign-off from the planning officer to undertake internal modifications to the building. I'll keep you posted.
Ahhh, the Town Crier is on Page 2. All is well with the world. Something else I love about this newspaper is the way that the publisher - our local stationer - fills all the spare space on Page 2 with advertisements for their own shop. They sell everything you could possibly need in the stationery line. Wedding invitations? Calendars? School pencil cases? Maps? Greetings cards? Books about the local area? Labels of all types? Poster paint? Glue? Glitter? Dictionaries? Paperclips? They've got it all.
The shop itself is a delight, rambling back into nooks and crannies, all of them crammed with treasures you never knew you needed. It's staffed by a selection of elderly ladies who know exactly where everything is. Sometimes they have to get ladders to reach the high shelves, delicately avoiding setting off avalanches of rolls of brown paper and boxes of treasury tags.
Top Page 2 headline this week:
Break In
Nothing Stolen
Fantastic. On Page 4 we have the almost-as-good Air Rifle Pointed, which hints at all sorts of ill-natured duelling potential. When you read the story, however, it was a couple of blokes in a van with an air rifle, off out rabbiting probably. They were "subsequently allowed on their way" after being given some "suitable advice" by the police.
Two stories side by side on Page 8 in an unfortunate juxtaposition. One relates how our nearest cinema, a small independent one in Frome with a bar and everything, has been damaged by fire* and will be closed for a while. The story beside it tells us that a new cocktail bar has opened in town. The accompanying picture shows a frosty-glass delicious looking cocktail, with the strapline "Try out a cocktail this weekend."
Why not? You can't go to the cinema, after all.
Page 11 has the menacing Children Visit Biodigester. It doesn't say how many arrived, or - more importantly - how many left. I think that's the sort of thing we ought to be told. Next to that story is Chilli And Tomato Tastings. I don't know about you, but my appetite vanished at the word "Biodigester."
The sports pages are great as well. Every single week, regardless of the weather, the time of the year or the prevailing economic climate, our local teams lose. This week's football headline is Not A Good Home Day For Town. It's interesting to see how many different ways the newspaper people can say "They're A Bit Shit, Unfortunately." The Rugby headline is Better Performance But Still Defeated.
It reminds me of my old school reports.
Are all local newspapers like this, or are we just lucky, I wonder?
*Probably caused by the manager making everyone a nice bit of cheese on toast to eat during the film.
It's how every local newspaper should be, really. Plus, and this is quite an important point, the hilarious "no news is what we're all about" publishing ethos demonstrates how little serious crime we have on a regular basis around here. So it's funny AND reassuring.
Last week almost the entire front page was covered with the scandalous revelation that the man who has bought the derelict Town Hall building has previous convictions for failing to comply with planning regulations when renovating a different derelict building. The last two or three years have seen many and varied front page stories about how is is a disgrace - an absolute DISGRACE!- that the Town Hall remains empty and derelict. Now there's a whole new angle to be outraged about. Our gorgeous pigeon-shit-encrusted Town Hall is in the hands of someone who might renovate it without getting the final sign-off from the planning officer to undertake internal modifications to the building. I'll keep you posted.
Ahhh, the Town Crier is on Page 2. All is well with the world. Something else I love about this newspaper is the way that the publisher - our local stationer - fills all the spare space on Page 2 with advertisements for their own shop. They sell everything you could possibly need in the stationery line. Wedding invitations? Calendars? School pencil cases? Maps? Greetings cards? Books about the local area? Labels of all types? Poster paint? Glue? Glitter? Dictionaries? Paperclips? They've got it all.
The shop itself is a delight, rambling back into nooks and crannies, all of them crammed with treasures you never knew you needed. It's staffed by a selection of elderly ladies who know exactly where everything is. Sometimes they have to get ladders to reach the high shelves, delicately avoiding setting off avalanches of rolls of brown paper and boxes of treasury tags.
Top Page 2 headline this week:
Break In
Nothing Stolen
Fantastic. On Page 4 we have the almost-as-good Air Rifle Pointed, which hints at all sorts of ill-natured duelling potential. When you read the story, however, it was a couple of blokes in a van with an air rifle, off out rabbiting probably. They were "subsequently allowed on their way" after being given some "suitable advice" by the police.
Two stories side by side on Page 8 in an unfortunate juxtaposition. One relates how our nearest cinema, a small independent one in Frome with a bar and everything, has been damaged by fire* and will be closed for a while. The story beside it tells us that a new cocktail bar has opened in town. The accompanying picture shows a frosty-glass delicious looking cocktail, with the strapline "Try out a cocktail this weekend."
Why not? You can't go to the cinema, after all.
Page 11 has the menacing Children Visit Biodigester. It doesn't say how many arrived, or - more importantly - how many left. I think that's the sort of thing we ought to be told. Next to that story is Chilli And Tomato Tastings. I don't know about you, but my appetite vanished at the word "Biodigester."
The sports pages are great as well. Every single week, regardless of the weather, the time of the year or the prevailing economic climate, our local teams lose. This week's football headline is Not A Good Home Day For Town. It's interesting to see how many different ways the newspaper people can say "They're A Bit Shit, Unfortunately." The Rugby headline is Better Performance But Still Defeated.
It reminds me of my old school reports.
Are all local newspapers like this, or are we just lucky, I wonder?
*Probably caused by the manager making everyone a nice bit of cheese on toast to eat during the film.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Recycled humour
I found this today, while I was having a tidy-up of my hard drive. You know how it is, heaps of old documents on the floor, faded photos drifting into the corners, unlistened-to music piping away mournfully. It's a nightmare in there, like an episode of How Clean Is Your House. But virtual.
So I decided to clear out some of the junk today. All the old work documents from three jobs ago, stuff I have five copies of in different folders, photos that I have scanned and edited and no longer need the huge originals of.
I think this was part of an email to a mate, but I can't remember now. I wrote it before I started blogging, so it's at least three years old. Maybe older.
My favourite story in the local paper this week is the one about the local Morris men performing to the local skate park regulars after a sign saying they were starting a bit later than planned had been "blown down by the wind". The assembled crowd of "about 20 people", not seeing the blown-down sign, gave up and went home. Apparently the "youngsters" ended up by joining in with the dancers. On the bandstand. In the rain. With floodlights. I wish I'd been there.
I was given a leaflet about the forthcoming Warminster festival the other day. There's a great endorsement from Lord Bath on the back - a picture of him looking a bit startled, as if they've snapped a shot when he wasn't expecting it, possibly whilst he's answering his front door, and a quote:
"It is of great interest to me when my local town chooses to put on a Festival. I know that I shall enjoy it as much as everyone else."
My interpretation is: "I'm not involved, but I understand there's something going on locally. I don't imagine anyone will enjoy it much."
I still like that idea of Lord Bath being startled by the photographer as he opens the front door at Longleat. I shall miss him now he's retiring. If you are going to have a local aristocrat, he really ought to be completely bonkers. We'll have to see how his lad performs in the role of Insane Local Grandee.
At least I'm not posting up all the other stuff I deleted. Small mercies, eh?
So I decided to clear out some of the junk today. All the old work documents from three jobs ago, stuff I have five copies of in different folders, photos that I have scanned and edited and no longer need the huge originals of.
I think this was part of an email to a mate, but I can't remember now. I wrote it before I started blogging, so it's at least three years old. Maybe older.
My favourite story in the local paper this week is the one about the local Morris men performing to the local skate park regulars after a sign saying they were starting a bit later than planned had been "blown down by the wind". The assembled crowd of "about 20 people", not seeing the blown-down sign, gave up and went home. Apparently the "youngsters" ended up by joining in with the dancers. On the bandstand. In the rain. With floodlights. I wish I'd been there.
I was given a leaflet about the forthcoming Warminster festival the other day. There's a great endorsement from Lord Bath on the back - a picture of him looking a bit startled, as if they've snapped a shot when he wasn't expecting it, possibly whilst he's answering his front door, and a quote:
"It is of great interest to me when my local town chooses to put on a Festival. I know that I shall enjoy it as much as everyone else."
My interpretation is: "I'm not involved, but I understand there's something going on locally. I don't imagine anyone will enjoy it much."
I still like that idea of Lord Bath being startled by the photographer as he opens the front door at Longleat. I shall miss him now he's retiring. If you are going to have a local aristocrat, he really ought to be completely bonkers. We'll have to see how his lad performs in the role of Insane Local Grandee.
At least I'm not posting up all the other stuff I deleted. Small mercies, eh?
Saturday, 15 March 2008
Hedging my bets
Was in the pub last night having a chat about gardening with some of our lovely neighbours.
The WithaY estate* is surrounded on one and a bit sides by a large leylandii(sp?) hedge, and I loathe it. With a deep and abiding passion. It's tall, thick, dark and depressing.
Good in that we don't get gawped at by passers-by and people using the petrol station, but bad in that nothing else grows near it except ivy and moss, and it looks gloomy.
My dream scenario would involve a runaway lorry demolishing it (leaving everyone unhurt), the hedge totally flattened beyond redemption, and Mr WithaY and I getting it replaced with a beautiful stone wall and hawthorn hedge at somebody else's expense.
Anyhoo.
We discussed various hedging and walling solutions**. Some of our neighbours are thinking about having one of their hedges taken out, and it's a surprisingly complicated thing to do. Unless you don't mind having your garden gradually collapse into the road and wash away in the rain, of course.
I said I would like to replace our huge front hedge, and our wise foresting neighbour asked what kind of thing I would put in its place. I said "Oh, maybe hawthorn." He nodded, and asked me how old I am. I told him, 42, why? He shook his head sadly and said "You don't have time for hawthorn."
Gah.
Other news: Local paper headline which made me snort tea out of my nose: "Wind Makes Minor Impact".
*front garden
**bet you wish you drank in our pub, eh?
The WithaY estate* is surrounded on one and a bit sides by a large leylandii(sp?) hedge, and I loathe it. With a deep and abiding passion. It's tall, thick, dark and depressing.
Good in that we don't get gawped at by passers-by and people using the petrol station, but bad in that nothing else grows near it except ivy and moss, and it looks gloomy.
My dream scenario would involve a runaway lorry demolishing it (leaving everyone unhurt), the hedge totally flattened beyond redemption, and Mr WithaY and I getting it replaced with a beautiful stone wall and hawthorn hedge at somebody else's expense.
Anyhoo.
We discussed various hedging and walling solutions**. Some of our neighbours are thinking about having one of their hedges taken out, and it's a surprisingly complicated thing to do. Unless you don't mind having your garden gradually collapse into the road and wash away in the rain, of course.
I said I would like to replace our huge front hedge, and our wise foresting neighbour asked what kind of thing I would put in its place. I said "Oh, maybe hawthorn." He nodded, and asked me how old I am. I told him, 42, why? He shook his head sadly and said "You don't have time for hawthorn."
Gah.
Other news: Local paper headline which made me snort tea out of my nose: "Wind Makes Minor Impact".
*front garden
**bet you wish you drank in our pub, eh?
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