Country Living: Our Man in Arundel

"Where have you been?", I hear you asking. Or do just I imagine you asking? Either way, I probably ought to explain why my enthusiastic start waned so quickly… and why I'm back.

My wavering began with thoughts about the elusive definition of "country" (and, to a lesser extent, the definition of "living", I suppose). I don't live in a cottage made of candy and I'm not even slightly isolated. Tractors don't roam freely through my garden. On the other hand, I do live in a town surrounded by fields and farms.

What changed my mind – apart from a few encouraging words like "your blog’s no worse than anyone else's" – was the local hardware shop. It opened last year, much to my delight. Arundel hadn't had a hardware shop for several years, which meant that no-one had been able to clean their drains or replace their light bulbs for quite a while.

Anyway, once again I'm digressing. (I’ve been told it's reminiscent of Ronnie Corbett's monologue at the end of the "Two Ronnies" TV show. I was always waiting for the big musical number at the end, so I didn't appreciate little Ron's style. Tsk). I was after a TV aerial plug. Not for me, because I don’t watch TV at home – but that's another story. Alas, the hardware shop didn't have one available. But they'd order one and I'd have it on Wednesday. And that's why I’m back. Because – if you'll forgive the cliché – I love this town.

And I love the sense of community (even though I'm not the world’s most sociable person). The idea of "Country Living" may also be a cliché… but, if it means healthy living and taking care of people, it's still something to aspire to.

Once again, life imitates art

So, there's this guy driving down the road... when he's overtaken by a turkey. Naturally, he accelerates to catch up with it, gets a closer look and is shocked to see that it's got three legs. Before he can see much more, the turkey picks up speed and disappears ahead of the driver. Anyway, the driver puts his foot down and keeps up with the turkey, which eventually disppears into a farm. The driver stops and speaks to the farmer.

"Excuse me," he says, "is that your three-legged turkey?"

"Yes, mate", replies the famer. "It certainly is. I bred it myself. You see, I like a leg at Christmas, my wife likes a leg... and so does my son".

"Great idea", says the driver. "What does it taste like, then?"

"Dunno", mutters the farmer. "Never managed to catch it".

[News story from the BBC. Okay, it's not a turkey...]

Country Living: Our Man in Arundel

While many bloggers are telling tales of countryside pancake races, I'm just about to rant. (Sorry, but I've not shaken off the mood from yesterday). I've just wandered past an American web site that talks about "National Pancake Day" (also known as Mardi Gras or Shrove Tuesday, apparently). Grrr. Next it'll be "National Wintertime Celebration", "Chocolate Egg Weekend" and "That Day with the Fireworks". Okay, I've stepped down off my soapbox now.

The national pancakes are at http://www.ihop.com/tellafriend.php if you want to join me shouting at them.

Country Living: Our Man in Arundel

Appearances can be deceptive. At least, that's the story we're told as children. But despite the best efforts of Saint Jamie, most of the population doesn’t seem to think the same about food.

At the risk of turning my blogging into cod philosophy – how I wish I'd thought of that pun for last Saturday's entry – I was inspired by mum's marmalade this morning. (Produced for family and friends only, before you ask). It doesn't have the perfected appearance that the most-popular commercially-produced products have… but it tastes much better. The same goes for mum's cakes and tomatoes, too.

And I'm not just favouring my mother's home-made goods. This applies to an enormous variety of products. Yet – and I'm certainly not the first person to say this – people tend to favour appearance over taste. Then again, when you think about it, people do the same in so many other areas of life as well.

Darn it, I'm starting to sound like a grumpy old man!

Country Living: Our Man in Arundel

The third Saturday in Arundel is the monthly Farmers Market. Twice a month would be better, but once is better than none at all. Rather like the town's shops, the stallholders at the market sell products that vary from the practical to the kind of food you probably don't need more than once a month (or once a lifetime, it's been suggested).

My favourite is the fisherman – for yes, this is the chap who catches them himself. He has the weathered, ruddy look of someone who does a 'proper outdoor job'. Although the River Arun still offers the occasional trout, he's usually found off the coast at Selsey. That's about 10 miles by boat, which is close enough for me to feel smug about food miles. The last time I was chatting to him (and buying a sizeable, well-priced cod that wasn't shovelled out of the sea by an aquatic bulldozer) he was explaining how he's lucky because of the monthly market. Thanks to Arundel, he has a guaranteed audience – which puts him at an advantage to many other fishers (is that the generic term for fishing people of all genders?) who are more desperate to sell and therefore inclined to take more risks during bad weather when other fisher-people aren't sailing.

Now, I'm not about to start a poster campaign that says "Buy local – save lives"... but it makes you think, doesn't it?

Country Living: Our Man in Arundel

I've started blogging on the "Country Living" web site as "Del Arun"... and thought I'd include my notes here as well. So here goes with my first entry, which was entitled: "Edible Sandwiches".


As far as I've been able to tell since moving here, Arundel has three types of shop. There are antique shops and galleries – much beloved by tourists (and, in some cases, priced accordingly). There are places to eat; a few aimed firmly at tourists, while others – usually those that don't sell boxes of shortbread biscuits – are frequented by local people. And there are 'normal' shops where you’ll find a tin of beans, a loaf of bread and half-a-pound of local tomatoes.

None of this bothers me. Well, not really. But I need to tell someone about The Edible Sandwich Company. As the name suggests, this is a sandwich shop. It's been around for a few years, catering to visitors and locals alike. But what’s with the name? I'll accept that 'sandwich' can be used in a non-food sense – to describe plywood, for example – and that some bread-based sandwiches may become inedible due to poor construction or sub-standard ingredients. But that’s not likely to happen here, is it? I can't imagine the shop was so named because the proprietor was forever turning away puzzled carpenters or disappointed masochists. I fear someone's mistaken 'edible' as a synonym for 'tasty'. A shame, because those sandwiches really are… er… succulent? scrumptious? Hmmm. Definitely edible.