Some of you may know I have been busy recently writing a book, and some of you will be astonished to know I have now finished it, and am about ready to send it off for the traditional mauling by the editors. As I move along this process I realise I am getting nearer and nearer that stage in proceedings when I might have to actually market the product if it is to be purchased by people other than my local publican, some family members and that hairdresser chap who cuts my hair, and thinks I might be a source of catering tips on account of my obsession with sausages.
Just to veer off topic for a second, I can tell you that me and mine went out for Sunday lunch yesterday because my Ambassador to Youth has got in to University, ( Whoop Whoop Whoop, popping corks etc ) and the event is part of our schedule of celebrations currently planned to continue for about the next fifteen years. The pub was chosen because it sells a little side dish called ‘pigs in blankets’ which is a posh way of describing sausages wrapped in bacon. I must say that again for those of you who could not comprehend the idea of such luxury on a single fork: Sausages wrapped in Bacon.
People who know me, know I love Sausages more than the national anthem or ‘Gibblings Guide to Tyre Repair” a standard reference work I’m sure you are familiar with. Anyway, you could order any main dish you liked in my opinion, because frankly who cares. Thus, feigning a casualness I did not feel I asked for something boring and now forgotten, together with a small side dish of four ‘Pigs I.B.’
“Sold out sir”, said the waitress, who until then I had thought to be a pleasing and cheering soul. “Pardon” says I.
“Sold Out” she repeats. Before I could be stopped I had entered a period of mourning, so extreme that it may have darkened the atmosphere of the entire meal and, indeed the restaurant: tears were involved with an undercurrent of hysteria. Birds could be heard weeping in the trees outside the window and one or two rodents left the kitchen, disgusted by the lack of choice currently available at this previously regarded eating house.
I now realise that I have gone on about sausages for so long that there is no room to talk about marketing, but I will let slip this tiny morsel of information if I may. With a display of intimidating will-power not seen since the invention of the electric tin opener, I have not used the word ‘sausage’ once in my novel. Will the editor make me think again. Only time will tell, but my fork always remains at the ready.