Thursday 13 September 2012

Jam and chickens


Following on from last night's Richard Plantagenet post, I thought I would show you one of his direct descendants - he's the one on the right, comparing fish sizes with his somewhat humiliated mate, in the beautiful setting of his mother-in-law's Scottish estate.

If you ever fancied going up to the West Coast and spending a week or two fishing for salmon, stalking deer or just generally trudging through the heather, then you would be most welcome, because he and his lovely missus run a bed and breakfast from a couple of the many cottages on the estate, and I will put you in touch with his services.  You have to have pretty deep pockets to stalk deer these days, so be warned.

"That's Highland economics", explained Roger Livesey in the Powell and Pressburger film, 'I know where I'm Going', when asked by the bemused Wendy Hiller why the laird preferred to rent his island out for three years out of four, rather than spend time that he cannot afford living there permanently, or just selling it all together.

Norrie and Anna's supplementary income involves jam, chutney and chickens.  When I spoke to her last night, she was just 'putting the chickens to bed', and Norrie was down in the Lake District picking fruit for his jam business.  Not just buying, but picking.  That's Highland economics.

Norrie used to have an office in Soho, London, from where he worked in the film industry, but his mother had a small estate in Scotland which pretty much bordered on the huge one of his wife-to-be's mother's, and they ended up joining forces by marrying.  Their wedding was probably the jolliest I have ever been to, and lasted about a week.  Glorious walks in the stunning countryside, a pink castle and standing at the water's edge looking over at Mull, with evenings of riotous frivolity when elderly, retired bankers 'stripped the willow' with teenage, Scottish punks.

I think that Norrie got into the jam business after entering a pot in a local produce competition, judged by a panel of ancient Highland worthies.  He had just finished bottling his first batch, and opened one to taste it.  He thought it was good - very good.

After the first taste, he turned to Anna and said,  "This jam is fucking WONDERFUL!"

So he decided to enter it into the produce competition, and set about thinking of a name for it to put on the labels.  He quickly decided on,  'NORRIE'S FUCKING WONDERFUL DAMSON JAM'.

Sadly, it was disqualified before it was even tasted.

12 comments:

  1. I know I have told you this story before, but I love it.

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  2. Ah, but I hadn't read it before. It was fucking wonderful!

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  3. I would have awarded it the gold medal before it was even tasted.

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  4. Why was he fucking disqualified? Fucking disgraceful.

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  5. I don't know Norrie nearly as well as Anna, but he himself is fucking wonderful. Nothing ruffles him, and that smile you see on his face in the picture seldom left in the times I have been around him. Anna suggested that - following the death of his cousin - the last Plantagenet heir to the throne - in Australia, we should start a campaign for 'Norrie for King', once we have got the gay petrol-pump attendant to abdicate.

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  6. I hadn't read this story before, either, but if i had, i'd gladly reread it. Norrie sounds like a wonderful man. Effing wonderful.

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  7. Wonderful story.......thoroughly f-ing enjoyed it.

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  8. Sounds a good B and B but chickens jam and the like are all very well. In my experience of North of the Border - the over-riding thing is the midgies.

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    1. I am sure they can provide midges if you really want them, Weave. They could probably chuck in a midget for a few extra quid as well. Times are hard for the little fellers, now that it is prohibited to toss dwarves.

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  9. putting the chickens to bed
    That's MY sort of woman!

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    1. I thought that might appeal to you when you were sunning yourself.

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