Lincolshire sausages and road kill, a link?

September 4, 2010

tags: Cote D Azur, Currencies Direct, Food & wine, Lincolnshire Sausages, Living In France, Margaret Thatcher, Moving To France, Sir Isaac Newton

I was going to plead pressure of my writing work to avoid the polite request for volunteers to help set up for the wedding reception, until I found myself, like a rabbit, in the headlights of that gaze which that nice lady decorator saves for occasions when she considers I am avoiding some duty or other. So we set off on the 20 minute drive to the venue with a combination of google maps and female map reader. In retrospect, I think we made good time in an hour and a half, once you understand the provocation that nice lady map reader was under. It must be terribly difficult to concentrate on simple directions, whilst texting and phoning friends. Thus we visited many parts of the fens, which I am afraid to report are all exactly the same, dull depressing and totally flat, with I think it was mist over the tundra, but could have been clouds of midges. We passed villages which seem by their names to express the true horror of their location. Some called out to me, Muckton I think was the one that called to me the most, although the sign to Grimsby also spoke volumes. Then there was Swaby, which put me in mind of wounds and a doctor, which is rather apt as the bride today, Emma, whose wedding we are attending, is a GP! They at least have the decency up here to name their hamlets in an appropriately graphic manner.

Now I must visit the subject of Lincolnshire sausages, regarded up here as a delicacy. From the first taste one conjures up various fleeting aromas or nuances, at first I though, herbs, spices, perhaps cinnamon, but then it gradually dawned on me, road kill, animal dung, cat fur, tripe and one I can’t quite put my finger on but which reminded me of Steve Weston, so probably had something to do with sheep. In my opinion, they are like the Cornish pasty, nothing is wasted around here, any left overs, food, drink, sawdust, animal droppings and road kill all blend together in a cylindrical shape and are called Lincolnshire sausages. Delicious!

Once at the reception venue, we were detailed to build the trampoline. Despite my protestations that I did not expect to make use of such an item, eventually I took on the mantle of chief delegator and foreman, after a two-hour debacle of failed construction. Once I took control it was up in a jiffy.

Trampoline construction process not responding to brute force and ignorance

I hear nothing from Mark Gurdon, who remains a confirmed cad and bounder until he forwards the offending picture.

Margaret Thatcher is from the area, perhaps it is the utter desolation of her surroundings that spurred to great or inglorious feats depending on your political persuasion. It is also claimed that Sir Isaac Newton invented the theory of relativity in this area when an apple fell on his head. This clearly a fabrication as I have not seen a tree within 100 miles.

And so today to church, where I shall once again be wearing my banana tie, saved for weddings, which for me sums up the slippery problems that go hand in hand with the state of marriage, as I know too well from personal experience. Yes, she is still not reading this column….

Chris France

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