A Saturday market - somewhere in Epsom, Surrey. Opps - wanting to keep the location discrete. I awake early, wanting to do my produce shopping early and get the freshest choices, and not the dredges of selection. So with the rise of the sun (about 9 AM) I bundle up and head off to market. There I am, one of a few hardy soles (sic) braving the frost and wind. With my little, enviornmentally sensitive linen bag in hand I walk up to the hawker and enquire regarding the source of the rock like plums on display. Expecting a simple answer of country of origin, I get the Cockney response of "from the market guvenor". I am then reminded of the global society. This man is just a broker - moving someone else's hard work to market and ensuring himself a piece of the action. I say ' no thanks' and walk away. My vision of hard working, local people working the land dashed by the commercialism of this 'bank' of no value. SO I head off to Starbucks and MacDonalds for breakfast. At least they have no pretense of local sensititivities.
1 comment:
I don't think you want a plum grown in January in the British Isles, anyway, guvenor.
Post a Comment