Spam

I wrote this for my Brexit notes shortly after the vote. Hope you enjoy it too

Vintage Spam Tin

Thought I would treat myself to fish and chips this weekend and set out to the village square on a wet, cold evening. Splashing through puddles I made my way to the chippy. Very few people about. In the distance an old woman was pushing her shopping trolley along the pavement. She was a smudge, a blur, a smear of painterly darkness on a generally dreary landscape. It was a relief to step into the bright warmth of the fryery. I placed my order and took a seat.

The door swept open and in marched the pensioner I had spotted earlier. She launched her shopping trolley at the counter where it landed with pin point accuracy at the till with a sharp thump. She was wearing a sombre red coat, grey tracksuit bottoms and trainers. Everything was laid over with a shade of grime that is difficult to describe, her face had folded into itself over the centuries, each line carved by weather and smoke. Her yellow gloveless hands indicated a lifetime of heavy smoking. None the less, she stood up and shouted her requirements. I'll have a coffee, chicken nuggets, chips and SPAM fritters. She had no intention of paying, even I could see that.

The chip shop owner seemed mildly resigned and started to cook up her order. Her customer harangued her all the way. A steaming cup of coffee arrived which the owner carefully put to one side 'to cool down, in case it scalds you.' The woman mouthed at this but accepted the delay.

'SPAM,' she said suddenly, as though realising defeat on the coffee she would wage war on another front while she waited. 'WHAT KIND IS IT? We were all floored as we clearly all thought SPAM is SPAM and no one makes it as such, it exists all by itself in tins that we all recognise but no one can name the manufacturer. Eventually the chippy owner pulled out the famous tin and showed it to her. 'WELL THAT'S ALL RIGHT THEN,' the customer said eventually, clearly irritated at the Chip shop owner's prescience in getting the right tin of spam.

Unable to help myself, the sketch from Monty Python started to play through my head. SPAM, SPAM, SPAM etc. The assistant glanced up and saw the SPAM bubble above my head. She started to dissolve with unstoppable giggles and was in danger of falling into the hot fat while I shoved my scarf into my mouth to stop laughing out loud.

This was a mistake for the woman, sensing a satirical presence behind her swung round with surprising vigour. 'WELL! WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL HAPPEN THEN?' I was lost. The customer clearly took me for an idiot and enjoying herself hugely. 'BLOODY BREXIT! AFTER BLOODY BREXIT - WILL WE HAVE ENOUGH SPAM?' Faced with this appeal I removed my scarf from my mouth. ' I think so,' I said with a confidence any politician would have been proud of, 'I think it comes in from America on container ships, so Brexit won't really change things - it not being Europe.'

Everyone seemed suitable impressed by this statement. Everyone that is except the elderly lady. Her mouth worked. Her eyes screwed up. She bounced her shopping trolley up and down. 'SIX MONTHS! SIX MONTHS! BEFORE THOSE SHIPS GET IN. NO GOOD AT ALL. I WILL BE BLOODY DEAD BY THEN.' Utterly defeated I conceded the point. So that's it people. Prepare for the great spam famine. Stock up now. xx