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.
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.
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.
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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