Your partner in meat

With the return of the good weather, notwithstanding volcanic ash clouds from Iceland, we are once again confronted with the annoyance of having to share our transport network with slow-moving boats. Our island is bisected by a canal, which itself is broken into a series of locks and low bridges.

The result is that every so often — every 30 minutes in high season — road traffic comes to a halt when the bridges lift up or swing open to allow yachts and other pleasure craft to pass through. It’s intensely frustrating as the whole process takes around 20 minutes, and drivers in a hurry to get to class, pick up kids or any other pressing business (that’s me, me & me) have to switch off the motor and watch some elderly twats chugging Liebfraumilch on motor cruisers.

It’s not as if the canal goes anywhere or gives access to essential facilities, and in terms of time, with all the locks and bridges, they’d be much faster sailing round the island than going through it. But I guess the value is the journey travelled rather than the destination … twats.

While I was waiting early one morning, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel in frustration and anxiously checking if I would have enough time to buy three tubes of Rolos before class, as part of my Ph.D research into student motivation (Tip: Rolos work), I was drawn to the slogan on the van in front of me:

Your partner in meat

My collaborator, of course, supplier of saucisse … and yet the longer I stared …

Your partner in meat …

It sounded like a ransom note threatening extreme consequences for non-cooperation.

Your partner … encased in mince
transformed into meatloaf

Either way it’s gross.

As far as bad slogans go, it’s on a par with one from my school years in the north of England, that of a removal company:

Moving a thing? Give us a ring!

I loved its vague assertiveness, its catch-all service — Well, I’m moving this glass to the dishwasher, so maybe I should call …