No, I am not spouting random profanities. I am referring to Alistair Darling and his excessive tax on cider.
Obviously this is to stop tramps and teenagers drinking themselves to death on White Lightning. Where’s the thought and consideration for the civilised people who drink proper cider?
It is a sad day for Mrs. Sheppy, Mr. Thatcher and Sir Weston.
Yesterday, Simon, John and I tried again with our trip to Sheppy’s Farm in Taunton; a journey we originally attempted to make in May, but due to getting held up for almost 4 hours in a traffic jam on the M5, were unable to make. There were no holdups this time and the trip to south Somerset was a success.
Upon our arrival, we were greeted by a donkey, some sheep and chickens. Hungry after the drive, we were tempted to start a barbecue and dine upon with lamb chops, drumsticks and whatever edible parts of a donkey we could salvage. With a shotgun equipped farmer no doubt watching from the bushes, we thought it best not to slaughter the animals, but go to the cafe for coffee and cake.
After the cafe, we took a tour of the farm and cider museum, learning all about how cider gets from the trees in the orchard to the chavs on the street corners. I was a little surprised to hear that some of the more popular brands of cider sold at the farm are said to be enjoyed by “all the family” and “at any time of the day”. I hardly think giving your children a pint of scrumpy with their Ready-brek constitutes good parenting, but if the old farmer says so…
The museum also allowed us to look at various farming equipment. As you can see, both Simon and me behaved ourselves and acted like responsible adults around the dangerous equipment and heavy machinery. For legal reasons, I would like to stress, despite being on a cider farm, we hadn’t been drinking the produce, so were always in control… kind of.
Then, after a visit to the farm shop, we made our way home. However, somehow on the way back, we found ourselves at Longwell Green. As we were there, we thought it would be rude to at least not pop into Nandos for some PeriPeri chicken.
A good day out, albeit 3 months later than originally planned.
Yesterday didn’t go exactly to plan.
We were intending on travelling down to Taunton to visit the Sheppy’s cider farm for Simon’s birthday.
However, upon joining the M5, we hit possibly the largest traffic jam I have ever had the displeasure to be stuck in.
It was hell – stranded in the middle of Somerset without food, water or a mobile phone signal. The car didn’t even have an AM radio, so we were unable to listen to the FA Cup Final. The only entertainment was watching fellow travellers wandering aimlessly along the lifeless motorway, climbing the embankment into fields and even walking their dogs. It was a very surreal experience.
We finally reached the turn off to Taunton, almost 3 hours later. With further traffic trailing all the way into the town and the farm soon to close, we had to cut our losses and drive home via Yeovil. A very disappointing day out.
Starving and thirsty, we stopped off at a lovely village pub just outside Shepton Mallet. There I enjoyed a lovely chicken pie and a pint of Thatchers in the early evening sun. The landlady saw fit to ID me for the alcohol. Luckily, I was carrying some – had I not, the day would have been made even worse. I don’t really think that was necessary anyway – if The Inbetweeners has taught me nothing else, it is that you can purchase a beer or a cider with a meal, even if under-aged.
We then drove back to Bath where we met Simon’s friend, Tim. It was decided we would end what was overall a very frustrating day, by the canal at The George Pub in Bathampton. A very nice evening, which almost made me forget about the disappointment of earlier.
Things got a little silly at the end of the night when someone decided to remove letters from the specials blackboard to form naughty words. We contemplated modifying ‘Cucumber’ , leading to funny results, especially as it preceded the word ‘Shavings’, but decided against it (the chalk was hard to remove). We were all disappointed by the fact the pub didn’t sell ‘Scunthorpe Pie’
Most of us left the pub relatively sober. Tim, however, had been drinking some very expensive whiskey, which resulted in alcoholic fumes filling the car on the drive home. Anyone who entered the car not drunk, left the vehicle a little closer to an intoxicated state.
I had an eventful Bank Holiday Monday.
I met Simon early in the morning to make our way into town to watch Somerset against Middlesex in a one-day cricket match at The Rec.
On the way to the ground, we saw the aftermath of what looked like a heavy night’s drinking in Bath City centre…
As for the cricket, Middlesex were truly awful and were all out for 65 – way ahead of schedule. Somerset took over after an early lunch, and did what turned out to be a formality – get 66 runs. They did this within an hour at the cost of only two wickets. Job done. Well done Somerset!
On the way back into town, we noticed a crowd of people around Pulteney Bridge and the weir.
Bath MP, Don Foster, was standing on a boat, microphone in hand, addressing the crowd. It was Bath’s annual duck race. This is where a load of rubber ducks are thrown from a bridge, dragged down the River Avon to the other side of Bath. The first duck to reach the destination wins. All good fun, although Mr. Foster did come across as a bit of a fool by repeating a series of poor jokes involving ducks, drug tests and Cheltenham races. Leave the comedy to Jimmy Car, Donald.
After the excitement of watching 1,000 rubber ducks floating down a river had ended, Simon took me to Waitrose. I don’t normally shop in this supermarket as it generally requires a mortgage to be taken out before a purchase is made. However, Simon had promised me an ample supply of rare and previously untasted ciders. Simon was right and I purchased a small selection of new varieties.
On the way home, we made a detour into JJB Sports. A few things to note. The massive price reduction on Real Madrid shirts. This, of course, follows Madrid’s total humiliation at the hands of Barcelona on Saturday – losing 6-2. A warning to Chelsea FC who play the Catalan’s on Wednesday… Lose the match and expect to see your shirts in the bargain bucket at a sport shop near you on Thursday morning!
I had to laugh at the heavily reduced Newcastle United shirt too. What a pointless item. Firstly, I was totally unaware Newcastle FC had a fanbase in the West Country. Secondly, who would want to wear the shirt of a shit football team anyway? (No Bath City or Leeds jokes please).
I’ve just got back from the local newsagents. Yes, it’s a stupidly early time to be up on a Saturday, but my bedroom was too hot and there was no way I could sleep in it – besides which, GTA4 needs playing.
While waiting to buy milk, I was intrigued by a conversation between the shopkeeper and some customer, who was going through the drinks shelf, comparing the prices and strengths of the cheapest, strongest, most disgusting beverages you could buy. I think he eventually decided on Diamond White (a cider officially endorsed by The Tramp Society)
To drink that foul liquid in the evening is bad enough, but at 8.30 in the morning! He may have been well dressed and didn’t look homeless, but can now officially be branded “Super Bum”.
Maybe he was in the right, though. Maybe I was in the wrong for buying milk for my coffee. Diamond White and Nescafé – the future?
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
