Well. The moment you have all been waiting for.
The Results of the Flower and Produce Show 2009!
Husband. Won. The. Cup.
Won The Sodding Cup. The Challenge Cup. For the highest total in the Vegetable Produce Category.
All those evenings of Looking At Vegetables and doing the Felicity Kendall Encouragement Thing has paid off! Oh, and Husband's vegetables. And all his hard work. Of course.
Wait for it.
Third Prize for the Sodding Bloody Bicyle!!!! (not literally, of course) Oh, dear. We did laugh.
Third prize for Wild Life. Snore. Only because photo was very dull one of newt. On Husband's hand. (Robin one was rejected on grounds of Too Much Tit.)
And then, for photo put in at last moment... FIRST PRIZE! Toby the cat as a Garden Pest. 'I love the light, the cat fills the frame and is nice and sharp,' said the Judge. Oh. Whatever.
Oh, and the person who took 200 photos of mole hills? Lost. Quiet Smirk.
As did we. Because, wait for it... we didn't have Mole Hills. We only had a single Mole Hill. Grrr.
But was vastly cheered by having second prize in Decoration in a Tankard. Apparently my Contrast was Weak. Yer wot? Just shoved some bloody flowers in a tankard and sloshed it along to the village hall. Contrast? Eh?
OH. AND. Third prize in Riot of Colour Category!! 'Lovely arrangement' said Judge.
Really? Grabbed a host of wonderfully colourful flowers out of garden and stuck them all into one of those green oasis things and then crammed that into the right size vase. Done. Lovely arrangement, eh?!
So. The village settles down for the next year. A new set of names on all the cups given out. Children dashing off with their book tokens, prizes for the best Garden on a Plate, Picture of a Pet, and Best Handwritten Joke. (Daughter raked up a Second with her Joke).
Gardens can be just Gardens again. No more peering over fences, trying to see how the neighbour's broccolli is doing.
Had very large Whisky and Soda last night. Looking out of window at our glorious view of the Downs. Children cheery in spite of being beaten on every single category. (bar the joke)
I will leave you with the Handwritten Joke by Youngest. No prize, but we loved it. Writing on a slant and picture of duck at the bottom. Heaven.
What time does a duck wake up?
At the Quack of Dawn.
Man walks into a pub with a newt on his shoulder.
What's that! asks the Bartender.
That's Tiny, said the man.
Why do you call it that? asks the Bartender.
Man replies, 'Because he's My Newt.'
Oh, and the Prize Certificates...