In which I continue to be evil...

[desperance]

...and my poor Barry hangs around in shreds of sunlight in the middle of the kitchen floor, or huddles against the back door making mew. Piteously. He wants out, and I daren't let him. I am insufficiently bold with his life.

When I went into town this morning, there was another cat on the doorstop. Much of an age with Barry, Young Adult with all that that implies; he was sweet and friendly and I made believe that he'd called to ask if Barry was playing out today. So I said no, and nearly invited him in, only I was afraid of rumpus and blood on the carpet. Like the babu in Kim, I am a very fearful man.

In other news, I fear my rabbits were off. I'm accustomed to my game well-hung, but this was something other; they smelled bad from the moment I unwrapped 'em. Hopeful that it was just a surface taint, a consequence of their being skinned & plastic-wrapped, I washed them well and left them in herbs & salt overnight, and next day they smelled mostly herby, so I made-believe they were okay and confit'd them anyway. But today I went to put them up in the pot, and - well, no. Frankly, rank. So I chucked 'em. Which is a real blight, because I had them from the only man I know who sells rabbits in Newcastle. The stall has changed hands recently, and process alongside; they used to sell their rabbits in fur and hanging, and now as I say they come on polystyrene trays in plastic wrap, pre-skinned, and I suspect this of being a Bad Thing in every way. Certainly it has stopped me buying rabbits in this city. Buggrit.

Comments

[cakmpls.livejournal.com]

Well, better chucking now than ... no, I won't say it.

But, yes, it's one of life's little sorrows when a commercial source one has trusted and counted on is no longer available.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

'Zackly. I hate being the kind of person who thinks that things were better before, but...

Middle age. It's lossy. Can't get away from that.

[gauroth.livejournal.com]

Yes, my local butcher now only sells rabbit-with-polystyrene. Bought some just the once. Walked home (20 mins.) Unwrapped rabbits.

Yeeuch! The stench was indescribable.

I don't patronise the local butcher any more. Don't trust 'em.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Can't exactly be glad that someone else has had the same experience, but it does at least underline the point. And it's so sad, not only because it deprives us of good rabbit, but also because it drives us into the arms of corporate butchery - or would, if we (well, I, at least) didn't have access to farmers' markets and such. And the internet. And, thankfully, the one surviving independent local butcher in Newcastle. Yes, truly: great big city, one independent butcher. Jimmy's Joint. He's fab, is Jimmy: I've known him 25 years, and he's never sold me bad meat. He hangs his beef; I've seen it. Just, he doesn't sell rabbits...

[gauroth.livejournal.com]

Only one independent butcher left? That is so sad. I remember going with my Granny to the butcher's in Osborne Road, Jesmond - we lived in Os Ave at the time, and the pillar-box on the pavement outside was an ancient octagonal one, and the lampposts were the oldfashioned ones with an iron bar sticking out which the lamplighter used to hook his ladder on before the City Fathers introduced electric lights - I don't remember the gaslights, I hasten to add! - where was I? Oh, yes. The butcher's. Sawdust on the floor, interesting fowl and rabbits hanging up in their feathers or fur so one KNEW that 'meat' wasn't just lumps of pink or white stuff wrapped in polythene...

Ah, nostalgia. It's not what it was.