What the Blazes is a Medlar? Part 2

Graham reminded me today that it’s been a very very very long time since my last blog post, and that if I want any blueberries at all this year I have to do some work. I reminded him that I don’t actually need him to supply me with blueberries, as I can just pick them myself at night when he’s asleep (in between fighting those badgers of course). He then muttered something about having always wanted one of those big hats the guards at Buckingham Palace wear. The reference went over my head, but it did sound rather like some sort of threat. So I googled it, and then immediately started on this post.

So... the other day - actually a couple of months ago now - whilst finishing work on one of the crazy beds with the IT Manager on his back (the what and the who? I hear you cry - yes it has been a long time hasn’t it?) Graham suddenly exclaimed “The medlars!” and set of through the orchard with some apparent purpose. I followed through the bare and slightly deer-nibbled trees, somewhat puzzled as harvest time is long gone. We arrived at the aforementioned medlars to find them still sporting a number of very sorry looking fruits. Graham picked one and gave it an experimental squeeze. He gave the brown paste that came out a suspicious sniff, then to my horror put some of it in his mouth. He tried (and failed) to assuage my scepticism by reminding me that medlar fruits need to be left on the tree until they have “bletted” - a euphemism for semi-decomposed - before you eat them. Apparently it tasted like slightly acidic toffee apple. It might have been better if he hadn’t gone on to also remind me that due to their odd appearance medlars are colloquially known as “open ar** fruit” or “dog’s ar** fruit”.

Hang on, where’s the IT Manager? Something’s wrong with the computer. When I type the word “ar**” it replaces some of the letters with little stars. What do you mean it’s meant to? It didn’t in my last post about the medlars. New management, new rules? Here’s what I think of your rules, you little sh**. Impolite? If all the impolite things I say on this blog got starred out we’d be able to sell sky charts. What do you mean that’s different? Ar** is a perfectly good Anglo Saxon word! As is sh**, which is what the stuff that came out looked like, but seemingly that’s also unacceptable. You’ll be telling me I can’t write **** next. Or ****. Or **************. The world’s gone mad.

Anyway, back to the ar** fruit. Oh ****, I thought I’d snuck one in there. Hold on, the IT Manager is distracting me again. Who are you calling a potty mouth? You don’t even know what a potty is yet!

Anyway, I asked Graham what one does with these delightful fruits. He didn’t know, so did an internet search. Apparently amongst other things it makes good jelly. We’ll run with that then. Fortunately, there aren’t enough yet to do anything with (apart from feed the occasional one to the Clerk of Works, who inexplicably seems to like them), so we can kick them into the long grass (literally) until at least next year.

Ar**.