Sunday, August 30, 2009

A class of their own

You have no idea how much will power I sometimes have to use NOT to put pictures of my grandchildren on my blog. My daughter just sent me a new batch of photographs and I want to plaster them all over everywhere. But I won’t.

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Instead, I am going to tell you about the village show. We haven’t had a horticultural show in the village for seven years, so when it was resurrected this year I thought I’d enter our fantastic blackcurrant jam which (in my opinion) is the best jam we’ve ever made.

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The other reason for entering was to see what it’s like being involved in this kind of event. I listen to the unseemly spats between competitors about their exhibits on The Archers, so I thought I’d go down to a real village hall and get some copy.

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I did, but I’m not going to share it here. All I will say is that I didn’t mind at all not winning the competition in Class 39 – a jar of jam. What did unleash an unQuakerly surge of fury was the fact that the first prize was awarded to a jar of marmalade! How could the judges

a/ decide that a jar of marmalade was a jar of jam?

b/ be so tactless as to award first prize to something that didn’t fit the class it was entered for?

You have no idea how I seethed and fumed all the way up our lane. It’s a fascinating insight. I shall no longer think the scriptwriters of The Archers are making stuff up. These kinds of primal rages really are engendered by such petty issues...and it's very funny.

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