tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post7033114578301774130..comments2024-02-22T19:52:27.939+00:00Comments on The bad old days will end: We are what we eat.rayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08557920166206674182noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-52109392320845173822011-09-16T10:27:35.769+01:002011-09-16T10:27:35.769+01:00I remember reading this in a biography of the writ...I remember reading this in a biography of the writer Angus Wilson.<br />Wilson and a posh mate were at a (I think) Communist Party gathering where they met a real prole. This fellow mentioned that he ate tinned salmon. They were fascinated and fired questions at him. What does it taste like? How do you eat it? etc. To them tinned salmon was more exotic than sheep's eyeballs.Jemmy Hopehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11613242697482178552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-27803099711675911842011-09-15T23:53:26.395+01:002011-09-15T23:53:26.395+01:00My daughter used to precede any journies we made i...My daughter used to precede any journies we made into grocers large and small to warn me about beetroot on display. Tha sight and smell of the stuff was enough to make me retch. I could be in an aisle at Tescos and she would shout warnings "Dad there's beetroot on the right". She would often display odd behaviour by not warning me but hold a box of cornflakes up in the air to prevent me seeing or smelling this 'orrible abomination of a fucking vegetable. <br />Once amongst workmates I mentioned my phobia about beetroot and the next day at lunch and cards the fuckers all pulled out beetroot sandwiches and munched and drooled away. I had to go to the carsey and sat on a vacant pot retching and feeling sorry for myself.<br />I had mates who were studying psychologyand psychiatry & apparently my problem with beetroot was this: as a young boy I was woken up on a Saturday morning by my grandfather at 3am and we went to covent garden (or kew) vegetable markets to buy veggies for his stall on Portobello, he would install me under the railway arch guarding the beetroot kettle that boiled sacks and sacks of the fucking things ready for the mornings market, he would load me up with magazines like TitBits, Superman, Captain America, Freedom, Morning Star, the Jewish Chronicle etc that he ponced from the all night taxi rank up the ladbroke grove, apparently for the cod psycoanalists this was why I react to beetroot as I do. <br />The problem is that I still hate fucking beetroot but love graphic novels, comics and Freedom.Gitanenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1694400362120888303.post-56218579700386992112011-09-15T20:24:56.956+01:002011-09-15T20:24:56.956+01:00Hot beetroot - lovely lovely lovely.Hot beetroot - lovely lovely lovely.henrynoreply@blogger.com