A disappointing theft

I made an excess of meatballs yesterday. Well, Friday really. Which meant we were having meatballs for dinner tonight. It also meant I needed to buy a swede to have as a potato substitute for them to sit on.

I was prepared to walk up to waitrose but Mirinda thought it best if she drove me. She then said she was going to the Frensham garden centre for some sort of plant. I love the farm shop at Frensham so said I’d go with her and get a swede.

And what a wonderful surprise awaited me.

I used to shop there when we lived in Frensham for that short while during the Year of the Extension. The food always delighted. From fresh fruit and veg to cheese and speciality pies, it was always a joy.

And now, it’s all changed. It’s now far easier to navigate and you no longer have to use the check outs in the garden centre section. This used to be a bit of a pain on weekends when you found yourself queued up behind old couples with overflowing trolleys full of compost and plants. Now you shop then, pay then, walk out. All very easy.

They even have an alcohol section where I bought some of the watermelon gin that Mirinda likes so much. It was this that prompted the story of the hapless gin thief.

Apparently, the gin company gives the shops big bottles of water to advertise their gin. These big clear bottles sit among the display of real bottles, triggering the need for a drink. One day last week an idiot decided to steal one of these big bottles.

The manager of the farm shop said he would have loved to have seen the guy’s face when he unscrewed the top and took a swig. I reckon it would be very disappointing if added straight to ice and tonic water.

Having successfully bought a decent swede, some cheese and gin, I returned to the car to wait for Mirinda to check out the 15 varieties of plants she bought as opposed to the one she’d suggested she was after buying. We then tried the cafe. It was chockas so we decided to head into Farnham instead.

And, rather than walk down the Lion and Lamb along with the usual Sunday hordes, we popped into Roost.

Roost used to be a white goods shop. In fact, we bought a washing machine (or dryer) there many years ago. We also had a guy come out from the shop to fix a belt on something. It was very handy.

I used to walk passed, every time I went to the Talking Newspaper Studio and remember the washing machines leaving and Roost arriving. That was a while ago and I’ve never been in. We rectified that situation.

Inside it’s all very cool-industrial. They have no gluten on the premises and everything is made from fresh. They don’t use refined sugar or seed oils. It’s a very healthy place. I wasn’t that keen on the coffee (it wasn’t very strong) but the eggs I had were lovely.

Back at home, and after Mirinda had walked the dogs and had her Sunday bath, I made dinner. The swede was excellent – mashed with lashings of real Jersey butter, salt & pepper & lingonberry jam – though there were a few too many meatballs. The dogs were not disappointed with the excess, though it took them a while to remove the residual lingonberry off before eating them.