I was reacquainted with my shop assistant friend at Sainsbury’s today. That’s right Jools, pay attention, although I’m not sure if you’re still reading these, now that you’re on a mission to save the planet.
If you are still reading Jools, then I’m sorry to report that the lady seemed a lot more clued up on vegetables today than last week. Perhaps she’d felt a bit ashamed at her veg-based ignorance and so swatted up on the subject ready for our next meeting. Maybe she went straight home that day and bought herself a copy of vegetables 101. By which I am referring to the handy compendium of vegetable types, rather than another book of the same name with the subtitle ‘101 Things To Do With Vegetables’ which starts off innocuously enough but then gets a bit weird from about suggestion 75; although, you might enjoy that bit Chloe. I’d lend you my copy Chloe, but it’s a bit stained, due to an unfortunate incident with a beetroot, in fact I’d recommend skipping suggestion 86 entirely, because it’s very painful and extremely messy.
I was hoping that the shop assistant would have come out with something that I could then write about in today’s Dollop, but alas, she didn’t break into poetry today. I was anticipating something though, as I assumed that if she’d had the idea to research her vegetable knowledge in time for our next meeting, then she might have also prepared a special performance piece; maybe a limerick about leaks, or a rap about radishes or something, but no.
I’ll be honest with you: today seems to be one of those days where my brain is really not working at all. I have absolutely no idea what to write about and nothing is inspiring me. To give you some perspective about what it’s sometimes like doing these daily Dollops, I’ve just spent half an hour sitting at the computer, trying to think of a limerick about leaks. I have no idea why, but I was at a loss for anything else to do, and so that’s what I did.
I suppose I might as well share one of them with you, otherwise it would be a complete waste of my time, even though, to be fair, I don’t think you’ll read it and consider it a particularly good use of my time, but here we go anyway.
There once was a YOUNG man called Zeak
Who did something odd with a leak
What it was he won’t say
But now he walks a strange way
And elicits a curious squeak.
I have another ten of these, but I’ll spare you any more, besides I need to hold something back for the book.
I had a really nice chat with the shop assistant today. Last week I mentioned that I was heading to Australia soon, and this brought us on to what I do for a living. This week we continued down this conversational line, and she asked me what my band was called. I told her, and she enthusiastically said she would definitely check us out and Google us when she got home. I then realised that this now means that she might potentially find this blog, and discover what I wrote about her last week. So even though I have literally nothing of worth to write about today, I feel compelled to keep writing so as to put more words between her and last week’s blog about her. Hopefully this will mean that if she visits my website then there is less of a chance of her finding that particular Dollop; although, now I’ve just realised that I’ve spent this entire Dollop referencing her and the original blog post I wrote about her, meaning that I’m really not helping my cause here. But I am too bereft of anything else to write about, so I can’t delete this and start today’s Dollop again, so I am doomed. Plus, if I did delete all reference to her and last week’s blog, then there wouldn’t be any reason to have written my limerick about Zeak and the leak, and that would be a massive shame.
We spent quite an enjoyable twenty minutes chatting about my trip to Australia amidst locating the various vegetables I was buying. My shop largely consisted of vegetables because, as I explained to her, I was planning on making a vegetable couscous dish. So we chatted about cooking and making vegetarian food, and then a bit more about next week’s trip to Australia before we eventually reached the checkout.
So now you’re aware of those facts, you wouldn’t find it weird what she said to me before she left me at the checkout. But if you didn’t have those facts and were just someone standing in the checkout queue, then you might have been a bit perplexed and maybe a little disturbed by what you heard.
Her parting cheery sentence before leaving me to feel all awkward and self-conscious at the checkout was: “well, have fun with your vegetables and let me know about your adventures down under when you come back.” And then, as she was walking away, she added, “I’ve certainly learnt a thing or two today,” by which I assume she was referring to the fact that she doesn’t really know anything about cooking or vegetables, but again, to the long line of people stood in front of me at the checkout, goodness knows what they were thinking.
I did think about making an attempt at an explanation to the people at the checkout, but couldn’t really be sure that they’d even heard, meaning that I could just be bringing unnecessary attention to myself; plus, people might just assume that I was merely manufacturing an excuse to try and wriggle out of the embarrassing truth. “You were only chatting about cooking and Australia were you? And you really expect us to believe that? A likely story.” So I just left it. Then I went home and stuck a courgette up my arse. The end.