Lost in Translation

Yesterday morning John took a phone call from one of our friends asking if we wanted a fallow deer. Her husband is one of the local hunters and in the past we have said we would be interested in buying some venison if there was any available. She apparently said to John "can you butcher it?". Upon which he said "you'd better ask the chef". I took the phone and was completely tongued tied. After a prolonged silence I said yes because I thought it was rude to decline their offer having asked previously. Fine it would be delivered in the afternoon.

The rest of the day I was worried about how I was going to deal with this dead deer. Would I need to hang it and for how long and where. How would I skin it let alone create usable joints chops etc. I asked John if he had a new saw I could use, knowing that none of my knives would be sharp enough. I worked out that the fox would be able to take away the entrails, but that presumed  that I would butcher the animal in the middle of the back field. I was really worried about all the increasingly awful  scenarios running through my head.

Eventually Bernadette arrived and after the pleasantries I asked where the animal was. "In my boot" she replied but there appeared to be no rush on her part to extract it. So we went indoors and continued to chat. Eventually I couldn't wait any longer and said that we'd better go and get it out. She then realised what I was thinking and fell about laughing  and couldn't stop whilst producing a shoulder, chops and casserole pieces of venison from her bag. I just hugged her with relief.

I guess it won't be long before the whole village hears this story.