The Village Show

In years gone by, some of the residents of Little Bunting, Dovecot Dell and Butterbump Splash would be busy reading through the schedule,  drawing up lists, deciding which classes they would enter in the village show.     

Old scores would need to be settled.     Secrecy and subterfuge would be employed, abilities and hopes played down.     Even the mildest and most gentle of folk were secretly driven. 

Special concoctions were brewed, preserves simmered and skimmed to the point of perfection, bottles and jars filled and labelled appropriately then carefully stored, others made perfect, tiny stitches, bold brush strokes, or perfectly composed photographs.     

Entries would be judged to Women's Institute standards, the trouble being that no one, other than a few WI members, knew what those standards were.    Never mind, we all gave it our best shot, increasing our knowledge from year to year.

Alas, as I have so often bewailed, that is now a thing of the past.   Nothing to do with Coronavirus.   

A few of the organisational stalwarts moved, older ones were no longer around to participate or support.   Few people stepped forward to help.   It became unsustainable.   Such is life.

Why am I warbling on about the old village show?       Simply because I came across a sheet of paper with a scribbled recipe for Lemon Curd which also contained a note saying that it was the recipe with which I had won first prize in the village show in 2011.    I had no recollection of having won that class, so I dug out my pile of old prize cards, see above.     

Slowly the cogs turned and I remembered. 

In 2009 I won third, which was marvellous because that was the first time I had ever attempted to make curd.   I recall that I determined never to make any again because it seemed such a performance and required an inordinate amount of stirring.   In 2011 I relented, had another go, and made a better job of it.

All this talk of Lemon Curd made my mouth water.      Luckily I had some lemons in the fruit bowl.  Lockdown meant that I had plenty of time on my hands.     So, for the third time in my life, I made a small batch of Lemon Curd.   What a palaver.  Grate, squeeze, melt, double saucepan, tedium. 

Now I know that it is not pure laziness which prevents me from making it too often. 

It tastes good,  far too good.   I could find ways to use it at every meal.     So I am carefully rationing myself to a generous spoonful swirled into plain Greek yogurt and I won't be making any more for the foreseeable future. 

All this indulgence is tempered by lots of homegrown vegetables.

They are not beautiful, definitely not up to show standards, but they taste great. 

The next few days look set to be fair and hot.    I love it, but I know that many others don't. 

Spells of sunshine and heat are rare so I take full advantage, abandon all but the essential jobs and pretend that I am on holiday.     That doesn't mean that I sunbathe, but I do take full advantage to pick up my books and lounge around. 

How about you?   Does this weather fill you with delight, or do you melt and wilt?
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