Manure

My mother came to stay with us for the weekend, and as usual I drove her home this morning. I came back across country to avoid Exeter, which has a traffic system that requires more patience than I seem to have these days. Passing a farm entrance, I saw a sign: “Fresh Manure £1 - Large bag”. I don’t think I’ve ever had occasion to buy manure, so it’s not an area of expertise for me, but I suppose I’d always naively supposed that manure just came in a bag of unspecified size.

“A bag of manure, please.”

“Certainly – would sir like a large, medium or small bag?”

Doesn’t sound right, does it?

My entrepreneurial side – and, in the interests of full disclosure, I have to admit that I’m not known for that particular set of skills: I’m 62 and still working – and not through choice; I once invested $100 in beer-flavoured ice cream, because I liked the taste, and I felt sure it couldn’t fail – that’s $100 I’ll never see again.

Anyway, my entrepreneurial side started thinking of a nationwide franchise – Poobuck’s, say – which would take manure to a whole new level.

“A bag of manure, please.”

“Certainly, sir – tall, grande or venti?”

“Oh, venti, I think.”

“Cinnamon or nutmeg?”

“No thank you – I take my manure straight. Don’t get me started on that Mocha Choka Skinny Caramel Cappucino stuff – it’s bad enough I pay $4 for a cup of coffee, without going all froo-froo …”

Think of the benefits. Manure buyers would no longer need to sneak around under cover of dusk to furtively purchase the wonder waste. New derivative markets would open up: designer bags depicting pastoral scenes in pastel colours; clever advertising slogans – “Ordure, ordure!”; manure-to-go, or home delivery (“half-an-hour or it’s FREE”); manure futures on Wall Street; an advice column in Composters Weekly (“Send in your questions – we’ll get to the bottom of it”) …

I really think I’m onto something – now, who wants to invest $100?