Rural Ruminations

    I walked into a small pub for lunch and then realised that I didn't have any money with me, so I turned to walk out, intending to return after visiting the bank. As I walked past the bar the young barmaid turned, incredulous, to an ancient crone perched on a stool like a Norn on a rock and said, "Woss 'is game, then?" I decided to eat elsewhere.

     So I then found myself in another Tudor doll's house where I ordered the potato and leek soup. As I waited, an elderly woman tottered in and sat at the bar
   "'Ow you doin' then, Rosie?" said the barman.
    "Oh, not so good, luv ... 'ad trouble with me waterworks for weeks now."
The barmaid brought out my thimbleful of scalding soup and placed it before me on the tiny, crumb-speckled table. She then went behind the bar and old Rosie said,
   "Got some lovely veal up the butchers yesterdee. Ooh it was nice."
   "Don't know 'ow you can eat that muck", replied the girl, "What is veal, anyway? Is it sheep?"
   "No, luv, veal is lovely, it is. It's a little baby cow."
   "I heard they kill them with a bloody big hammer, apparently. I wouldn't like that at all!"
   "Yes, but you're one of them Veagels, aren't you?"
   "Vegan. Yes, I am."
After a pause, the girl asked, "Well what's venison then?" The old woman thought for a second, sipped her glass of white wine and said,
   "Venison is half cow and half some other big animal, I think."


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