... feminist, atheist, autistic academic and historic narrowboater ...
Likes snooker, beer, tea, rivets and solitude, and is strangely fascinated by the cinema organ.
And there might be something about railways.

Monday 28 January 2019

Emotional vegetables

No, not a new term of abuse (well, not that I know of), but my latest collection (when you move from having two of something that you don't even need one of, to three, that's the start of a collection).

It started with a sad onion (the small one). I can't even remember where he came from. But when I was in a charity shop in Eastbourne with Sebastian last year, we heard the staff talking... 'What happened to the sad onion?' 'I haven't put it out yet.'  I pricked up my ears. 'Sad onion? Please can I see the sad onion?' Because obviously, when you have a sad onion, you need another sad onion.

The second sad onion is in fact a classic SylvaC sad onion.

Then on Saturday I was on the phone to Sebastian, and he asked me if I collected sad onions. Well, I said (mistakenly, as it turned out) I don't think there are that many different sorts of sad onions out there. So I would willingly widen my collection to embrace anthropomorphised pottery vegetables of any variety, displaying any emotion.

And in a truly uncanny coincidence, on Sunday afternoon my task tombola (don't ask; I'll tell you soon enough) sent me charity shopping. I'll be going up to Broomhill next weekend, so I strolled (briskly, it was bloody cold) down to Hillsborough, and in the first shop I visited (which I would have missed out entirely if I hadn't snuck into Morrisons to use the loo) blow me if I didn't find a smiley/sullen celery:
A slightly creepy smile, but a smile nonetheless. Turn him round though...
and he looks very grumpy. Or possibly disappointed. I mean, I would, if I were celery.

None of these things is any use as a receptacle. The sad onions are too small to hold anything other than a very small quantity of very small (or finely chopped) onions, and the celery pot (vase?) leaks copiously if you fill it with water (although I admit that might not be a deliberate design feature). It doesn't look much like any celery I've ever seen either. Lucky it's got 'CELERY' written on it - on both sides - or I would have taken it for a pointy cabbage pot.

But none of that is the point. It is a collection, perfect in its pointlessness.

You have to wonder how these things came to be designed ('Hey guys, I've had this great idea!'), manufactured, marketed, sold, bought, given (because I doubt anyone ever bought one for themselves), received... 'Oh, thank you mother-in-law, now I will never have to serve your son limp celery again.' 'Why, thank you darling, now Reg won't be able to eat too many pickled onions at the buffet, after what happened last time... How clever of you.'

1 comment:

  1. I may be completely off the mark here but I'm betting Marie Kondo's philosophy is not yours.