No Custard.


Don’t you just hate it when your office stinks of rhubarb?

This standard problem usually comes about as a result of your dad giving you a plastic bag of the stuff - picked from his garden - when you met him for coffee earlier in the week. Then, because you were going out for a meal that evening without going home first, you had no choice but to leave it in your office overnight, rather than take it to the restaurant. We’ve all been there more than once.

There are worse things an office could smell of; the manure you might spread over the rhubarb to help it grow, for example. I’d rather have the whiff of future crumble in the air than the stench of shit, as I’ve always said; it’s a maxim I live my life by, which is surprising, as I’ve only just come up with it; that’s how profound those words are to me.

It was nice to meet my dad, as it gave me a break from the work I’d been doing all day, which mainly consisted of booking previews and writing press releases, which is all I seem to do at the moment. Then, as my dad left, I bumped into my friend Ollie (who used to run Mostly Comedy's old venue The Croft) for a quick drink and a catch up, though I had to explain the reason I had a bag of rhubarb with me. Not long afterwards, a mutual friend joined us, who I decided not to give the rhubarb's back story, as this seemed more amusing then him being filled in; it’s good to cultivate a little mystery ('cultivate' being the appropriate word in this vegetable-based instance).

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