Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Wynford Vaughan-Thomas on: Butternut Squash

Butternut Squash

It doesn't taste of butter or nuts; and I tried to make squash out of it but it came out lumpy.  They shouldn't call it a 'butternut squash'.  It's misleading.

I think Coyote and Roadrunner brought me this purely because it looks rude.  They're infantile, those two.  You should see them when they come up here; they stand around sniggering like a couple of street urchins.  They're adults!  He should be working in an office while she stays at home with their children; scrubbing the doorstep with carbolic soap.

But I digress.

The butternut squash is no good for a quick snack when you're up a mountain; it takes up too much room in your knapsack.  I had to leave my flask at home so I could fit it in.  Not only that; but I also had to leave my maps behind.  Inevitably, I got lost.  I was wandering around for hours; growing weaker and weaker (I only had four oggies, a slab of Kendal Mint Cake, a large bar of Dairy Milk, two ham sandwiches, a family-sized pork pie and a litre of whisky to keep me going.)  Then I stumbled, weary and weather-beaten, upon a small hamlet.  'Machynlleth'.  The natives seemed friendly enough so I stayed around for a while; taking in the sights and sounds.  The timeless architecture; the toy town clock and the scent of mung beans wafting on the breeze.

I refreshed myself in a little shop called Tuffins.  I availed myself of a coffee and walked to the Dyfi Bridge; her fine arches spanning a lazy river.  I sat a while on the finely built wall and watched the traffic trundle by.

I think I must've dozed off because I fell off the wall and got hit by a number 34 bus.

That's the last time I have anything to do with butternut squash.  I dread to think what they'll bring me next.

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