The farmers’ market is the highlight of our month.
That sentence probably explains everything about how my life didn’t quite turn out as I expected. But it’s really good. Honest. There is all different sorts of meat. And when you are bored with the meat you can look at the vegetables.
We stand there, munching our hot dogs, produce voyeurs. “Morning Jonny,” says Vegetable Stall #1 Owner, from behind his beard.
Farmers’ markets have become extremely popular in the past couple of years, as people have realised the essential rubbishness of fresh supermarket food, viz – it doesn’t taste of anything. Plus it is good way of supporting your neighbours. Plus going along makes you feel smug.
But in fact the smug factor is pretty well entirely absent here. I attended the big market in Borough (note to foreigner readers – this is in London and has some pubs) some years back. It was full of people who’d read about it in the Sunday Supplements and had turned up as a day out to purchase a single organic veal and sun-dried tomato pie and a small loaf of ‘craft bread’. Here, everybody is here for their weekly shop, and stocking up the freezer for the future.
“Hullo,” I say to Meat Stall That Does Mainly Lamb Man. “Hello!” he replies.
A maypole has been set up in the corner of the square, and some children are dancing around it. Even this doesn’t spoil my mood. Although I can’t quite work out the chronological aspect.
I watch them dancing for a few minutes (not in a pervy way). I am pleased that they and their parents are enjoying it, but as entertainment it is not for me. If you want dancing children then you can say what you like about their appalling human rights record, but as a society we should just accept that North Korea does it better.