© Bruce Goodman 29 June 2022
My dear Brethren. I had been growing lovely vegetables in my garden so that I could share them with the poor of our beloved congregation. And what happened?
We had invited the bishop to dinner. Our chef was preparing a dish – Blanquette de Veau if you must know – and I asked as I left for my daily walk if he would like a few sprigs of this and that as I passed through our gardens on the way back. I like to make myself useful.
Well, someone had ransacked the garden. All the squash had disappeared. The celery, kale, and lettuces had been stripped. The peas and beans had been plucked. Not all, but a whole row of potatoes had gone west. The list goes on. I asked the head gardener if he knew anything about it and he didn’t. He was as angry as I was.
The chef had to send the housekeeper into town to purchase herbs and vegetables and fruit for the evening meal. We were getting low on ice cream anyway and now needed strawberries and clementines (if they have them) for dessert. Believe me, the road to hell is paved with pips of stolen apples, and the tops of stolen carrots, and corn cobs, and courgette seeds.
I informed the police and they spent considerable time on the investigation. It turns out the vegetables had been stolen by people living in tents on my street. A curse on them. I had arranged for the Press to attend next week as I distribute a few of the vegetables to some of the poor, and now I have had to cancel. That’s the last time I’ll be getting staff to grow stuff for the city’s urchins.
I shall be instructing the police to charge these criminals to the full extent of the law or my name is not ……
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