Guest blogger Spud-I-Luv has been married for twenty-five years to his missus. He enjoys playing arrows with his mate in his local, brewing home-made rocket fuel, and spending time alone in his allotment. His article is in response to the post about Andrew Marvell’s ‘My vegetable love’.
Mer Favourite Veggie by Spud-I-Luv
Aye luv mer spuds. In all mer best nosh mer missus cooks: egg ‘n chips, bangers ‘n mash and noisette de boeuf aux olives et vin rouge, avec purée de pommes de terre. Y’see aye grow mer own spuds down ter allotments without chemicals and kryptonite. Would miss mer pickled slugs utherwise. Best mention summit abowt Shakespeare to pleeze that Hobbinol geezer.
Bin readin’ Marvell’s ‘The Mower Against Gardens’ (1681) on mer Kinnedull: nothin’ good on telly. Not a bad poehim, abowt the dangers of spending too much time down ter allotment. Aye must admit after a few hours mulching the soil around mer spuds with horse shite, there is ‘A dead and standing pool of air’ (Line 6). Last nite’s sprouts don’t help ivfer. Light a match and it’ll be like Guy Fawkes down ‘ere.
The poehim also knows how hard it is down ter allotment:
No plant now knew the stock from which it came;
He grafts upon the wild the tame:
That the uncertain and adult’rate fruit
Might put the palate in dispute. (Lines 23-5)
Plenty of grafting t’udderwise spuds won’t do anniethin’ like they ‘ave over ter last few yeers. Maybe aye hurt their feelings coz they don’t know ‘the stock from which…[ter] came’. But aye don’t evin know that! Aye was a babee found in a dustbin amonkst sum veggie peelings. Perhaps that’s why aye ‘ave messed with ter wild an’ tame – crossed a cucumber with a strawberry and got a long red thing spurtin’ juice everywhere.
Though there’s somethin’ in ter Mower’s gardin I wouldn’t mind tryin’: ‘And in the cherry he does Nature vex,/To procreate without a sex’ (Lines 29-30). Aye always fancied ter cherry, ‘specially one without balls. Missus always screamin’ at mer, “Get out, you’ve got no balls!” Aye’m happy with the way things are, got ter house an’ allotment. Though maybe mer affekshun’s are achangin’. Just don’t tell mer spuds. Ohcay.
Marvell, Andrew. ‘The Mower Against Gardens’. 1681. The Poems of Andrew Marvell. 2003. Rev. Ed. Ed. Nigel Smith.Harlow: Pearson Education Limited, 2007.