I trot into the cottage to inform the LTLP. She will be delighted at the news.
“And where the fuck are we going to keep it?!?” she yells at me. Honestly – any psychologist will tell you: there is ‘practical,’ and there is ‘paralysed into total inaction by a pathologic need to raise silly objections about every little thing.’ Sometimes I think she tips over into the latter category.
Short Tony, Len the Fish and I have agreed to buy third shares in a cow, with the objective of saving money on beef. It is a smart scheme in this economic climate, the sort of idea that demonstrates clearly why Norfolk is thriving whilst Greece and Italy totter. Beef must be one of the major outgoings in this household, and if we can cut our beef bill then we will be in clover, as opposed to the cow.
“We will freeze it of course,” I reply.
We examine the freezer, which is a smallish one connected to our fridge. It is not like it is totally, absolutely, completely full. There is a bit of space between the sausage meat and the ‘Smarties’ ice creams (on offer), and the peas could probably be flattened out a bit.
“How big is a third of a cow?” asks the LTLP.
I am at a bit of a loss as to this. “Well a cow is…” I make a sort of cow sized shape by stretching out my arms and waving them out. She eyes the freezer with some scepticism.
“Don’t forget that a lot of animals are mainly fur, so are a lot smaller than they look,” I add.
Truth be told, the freezer has been badly packed, and will surely offer some more space following a reorganisation. In addition to that, the cow is not due for at least three weeks, and so there will be time to consume much of the contents therein. Not shopping for the next three weeks will save us shedloads, in addition to our cow steakholding.
If it is possible to close a fridge freezer with an ominous air, she does it.
“You will enjoy it when it arrives,” I insist.