In pursuit of the Hunny Pot....

The Blizzard of life...

Well well well. Old Marge powered through the blizzards today. There was hardly a trickle of snow in the air when we hit the road, but the further North we got, the whiter and wilder the powder. Espadrilles failed the mission mind. My feet were frozen and soaking wet trudging through the sludge. 

I even went off road in the pursuit of honey. I saw a sign that just said 'LOCAL HONEY £4' and like Winnie the Pooh, I turned old Marge around and followed my nose to the hunny pot. The sign was the first of many, the pot was on a proper farm with geese and tractors and loads of snow. The espadrilles got stuck in the snow, the socks got even wetter. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation because it was pretty absurd really. On my way to a meeting, off road, in the snow, in summer footwear, in Marge, who ain't a Land Rover by any stretch, all in the pursuit of hunny. Anyway, got the hunny, got back on the road and then saw a farm shop and pretty much followed the same pattern of slapstick in the search of faggots, a scotch egg and cream éclairs. It was fun chasing these local delights from rural England. One thing I miss about the country is the local stuff you can go and get from the farm, or the local pub, or wherever the contraband/produce may be. It's all too easy to wander into Tesco when you live in the city and serve yourself and avoid interaction with anyone apart from the poor bugger who's running around clearing the errors from the systems, thanklessly. The thrill of the chase today was fun, a little foolish, but fun nevertheless. 

There was never any doubt then that I'd arrive to a good vibe. A meeting of complimentary thoughts. I nattered on, with my audience trying to understand me (because it was talking about a right load of leftfield thoughts and my voice sounding loads less clear than last week when I had man flu blocking up my nose), but digging the vibe and picking up just about enough of the words to piece together my groove. We'll do something together because it makes sense and I want to go back on more rural food gathering. 

Pooh, didn't know what it was called. Certainly, eating the honey is lush, but the journey will stick with me with fond memories for some time. I call it a Jezism. A moment for me to enjoy, and share, and therefore hope you enjoy too. 

“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.” 
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Or, you could call it; 'The Thrill of the Chase' of course. The moment you know the honey pot is yours for the taking. It's true that in that moment, there's a divine sense of achievement that the act of consumption often fails to live up too. If you're someone else of course, I'm a winner with a honey pot...

One Love

Jez

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