Today
My nephew Jacob posted a picture on Facebook today showing a supermarket offer on faggots. He seemed to be very cheerful about this which I thought surprising, in view of the following story.
In My Day
It must have been late 1984 or early 1985 and Beatrice and Jacob (who was then about three) were coming to lunch. Knowing that they ate meat I'd bought some faggots.
I served these up all hot with gravy and vegetables. Jacob took one look and refused to eat them, throwing a fairly huge tantrum to make his point clear. "Well, " I said, when I could make myself heard, "I haven't anything else, but if you don't want them I'll give them to the dog." Caspian the dog was cruising hopefully around the table in case anything fell on the floor.
Jacob screamed a bit more to ensure that we hadn't misunderstood him first time around. "OK" I put the plate on the floor and called Cas, who clearly thought that Christmas had come early, since he was never fed from the table. The faggots disappeared without touching the sides and Jacob watched his dinner vanish.
Now it was pudding time, Jacob would eat any pud, so long as it was oranges and I'd laid in a stock of really nice, juicy ones. "No dinner, no pudding," said Beatrice firmly, so Jacob had to watch while we all tucked in to his favourite dessert. He tried sucking up to me with poorly disguised attempts to wheedle a orange - even a segment of orange out of me, but I was obdurate and he had to go hungry.
I have no idea whether this made any improvement in his manners, eating habits or moral understanding (I seem to remember a later episode over some fish & chips, so maybe not) nor whether Jacob now has a rooted aversion to or passionate liking for faggots. But he doesn't seem to bear me any sort of a grudge, for which I'm grateful.
