A Special Day for Vegetables

'We've seen it all before' declared Nosher as he settled into his old deckchair outside his allotment shed one lunchtime recently.
And, in general, he is right.
Not much happens in the world that has not been prefigured in some way in the world of our allotments down here in South Gloucestershire in the good old Dis-United Kingdom.
Take the latest idea to come from our Immigration Minister, one Mr Liam Byrne, acolyte to the Communities Secretary Ruth 'Boy Wonder' Kelly.
Mr Byrne is proposing that the August Bank Holiday weekend be turned into a celebration of something called 'Britishness', with street parties and coloured bunting, and posters of Winston Churchill all over the place, and a great fanfare to laud the victory of Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar.
As I settled in my own deckchair and accepted Nosher's offer of a glass of chilled fruit juice I could tell he was in a story-telling mood.
'All this reminds me of an event that happened on this little allotment a long time ago' he began. 'Our allotment comittee, in their infinite wisdom, decided that all the vegetables we grow would be a lot happier and grow faster if we had a special day for them, to celebrate the fact that they were growing in our little allotment, the most special allotment in the world.'
'So what happened?'
'Well, it was a great flop, as usual, in a typically English kind of way' Nosher told me. 'As you know, I've always talked to my vegetables, and listened to what they have to say in return. They told me that they didn't want to celebrate being part of the allotment, they were happy to think of themselves as belonging to my little plot within the allotment, and the allotment itself was too big a place for them to comprehend. And then there was a particularly obstreporous carrot called Alf Garnett who told me that the weeds would take this celebration as an invitation to move in and take over, and he didn't want anything to do with it. Well, I had to tell him to pipe down, and I'd deal with that sort of thing myself. On the big day we had coloured bunting hanging between the willow trees, and posters of famous vegetables stuck to the sheds, and Morris Men danced along the rows of vegetables. But it was all very contrived, and only the most impressionable of the vegetables joined in. Afterwards they all told me it was not really their thing, they didn't like being organised to be happy, they would rather I looked after them and the allotment committee left them alone. I agreed with them, and the idiots on the allotment committee have never suggested anything like that again.'
'Is that what you think will happen with this new idea to celebrate Britishness' I asked.
'Oh, I expect it will be heavily promoted and the media will give it lots of coverage - that sort of thing is cheaper than bothering to look for real news - but most people I predict will leave it well alone. We English don't like being organised unless there's an invader at our shores. I can't speak for the Welsh or the Scots or the Cornish or the Northern Irish, but I'm English through and through. I view "Britishness" (whatever that is) as a secondary identity, merely a convenient political label for politicians to try to manipulate me. And as for the European Union...'
Nosher was about to climb onto his favourite soapbox.
'I think I've got the message!' I said 'let's wait and see what Gordon the Moron and his Assistants in Idiocy come up with to try to persuade us that being British is something to celebrate.'
If you've ever fancied being a Morris Dancer, there might be some good opportunities coming up to dance around in silly outfits with bells on your legs.
Good luck!
More from www.overthegardenfence.blogspot.com soon.
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Best wishes and have a nice day.