Monday, December 02, 2019

Pork Scratchings and Sausages

You know, if you walk through what is euphemistically referred to as the 'Crapchester Christmas Market', (actually a collection of wooden sheds selling over priced tat cluttering up the main shopping centre during November and December), in early evening when the vendors are beginning to close up, you find yourself being accosted by stall holders desperate for a sale.  "You look like a man who like scratchings", a girl in charge of one such shed shouted at me as I came out of Sainsburys the other evening, for instance.  After initially thinking 'that's one Hell of a pick up line', my next thought was to wonder what sort of Christmas market stall specialises in selling pork scratchings.  (To be fair, it was also selling some kind of cider).  Anyway, the fact is that I don't like scratchings, pork or otherwise - not only have I nearly broken a tooth trying to crunch the bloody things in the past, but I really don't like those bristles you find on some of them tickling the back of my throat.  I do, however, know a dog that likes pork scratchings, (I suffered him crunching through a packet while I was in the pub the other day).  So, while declining the stall holder's offer, I promised to send the dog down if I saw him.

The whole experience left me wondering what sort of sales pitch some of the other stall holders use toward the end of the day.  I mean, does the guy at the German sausage stall start thrusting his wares at unwary passers by, declaring "You like the sort of person who'd like a mouthful of my huge bratwurst sausage"?  Imagine the possible hilarious consequences of such innuendo.  Benny Hill could have gotten a whole TV series out of it.  Actually, right now there are two stalls selling German sausages in Crapchester Christmas market.  Sensibly, they've been positioned at opposite ends of the market to avoid any rivalry spilling over into violence:  nobody wants to see two grown men dueling with their huge sausages.  It has occurred to me that, next year, Crapchester's apparent seasonal predilection for Teutonic sausage could be stymied by Brexit.  Tons of the things could find themselves sitting in queues at European ports, waiting to clear customs.  Consequently, there could be riots in Crapchester next Christmas, as punters deprived of their German sausages go on the rampage, refusing to assuaged by the selection of genuine English cheeses and chutneys being offered by the sister stall to the one selling scratchings.

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