Lee Flower Show judges play dirty
By “Sod-Buster” (April 2002)
Just look what happened to me last year. The potato winner freely admitted to me that mine, 4th of 4 in class, were superior to his. I have heard it alleged that this habitual prize-winner buffs his specimens up on his polishing wheel with a physick of milk and Mr Sheen. Some begin to suspect his are actually grown in the gardens of Tesco sub-contractors in Cyprus. They were uniform in size, without a mark upon them, glowing slightly unhealthily.
Mine on the other hand sported all the signs of their struggle to reach the table: dents where they had circumnavigated flints, scars where slugs had been seen off. Heroic, various, rich in personality they were, reflecting the traits of our island race. Worse still, check out my beetroot horror. A cadre of The Praesidium, well trusted hitherto, advised me to cut their tops off, my boy, which I did there and then, in front of him. No guesses who won the class.
My own topless beauties were cast to one side with a vilely patronising note from the judge about reading the rules in future. Rules? Why bother with rules when these guys make them up on the run to suit themselves?...