The Pizzle Factor

Okay, we've done science and we've done modern history. Today, we're going to do knob jokes. If you're new to this blog, and only read the last two posts, let me explain; this is how we roll! Knob jokes are the order of the day. It's the serious stuff that is rare. For regular readers, normal service has been resumed.

So, the pizzle factor. Well, it was the last days of summer sunshine, and I wanted to give it a bit of colour. I had no option. It had to be naked in the sun. I made sure the rays of heavenly light fell along its length. However, it drooped and touched the mud. This wasn't good.

I made a sling, like a little hammock, to keep it off the soil. I didn't want pests to get into its bulbous end. Behind me I could feel the curtains of the local women twitching. They were getting a good look. The next day I was checking to ensure it was getting the sun when the first widow emerged into her garden. We exchanged pleasantries, but I knew what was coming.

"What is that?" she asked.

I explained.

"My husband's was nothing like that, even when we were first married."

I shrugged. What could I say? I knew that most men in the village wouldn't be able to compete, dead or alive.

Behind the other fence, a blue-rinsed head appeared.

"That's a big one!" she shrieked. I smiled and let have a bloody good look at it.

A few houses up, a young girl came to the window and shouted, "Is it hard?"

I called back, "Yes, and the skin is like leather. Would you like to feel it?"

Her mother came to the adjacent window, and shouted, "There's enough there for all of us."

Mrs IG ventured out to see what the commotion was about. I turned and griping it's slender shaft, I showed her the full length.

"It's big, isn't it?"

She nodded and agreed that it was indeed big, but we both knew it wasn't big enough. It was a few centimetres short, and it's those few centimetres that really matter.




The time has come to call it a day with my Trombonchino Courgette. The other fruits have been eaten, and only the Pizzlemeister remains. I wanted to grow it to at least a metre in length, but I only managed 95 centimetres. So close, and yet so far!

The sun has turned the skin a coral colour, and it's as hard as iron. It should keep for a few months. The bulbous end holds the seeds; I'll scoop them out, stuff it with pork, and roast it. The shaft will make a soup.

Will I ever grow a longer one? No, I won't, because I won't bother growing it again. To be honest, the plant was very invasive, covering about 20 metres in total. The fruits are sparse, and pretty tasteless. As an ornamental, it's great, but I want food for my stomach, not for my soul. I do have a number of seeds if anyone wants them. I will be venturing down the well trodden path of traditional courgettes next year.

However, I will always remember the day when I could say, with some degree of honesty, that I had the biggest one in the village!