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Saturday 9th September 2006

just want to make it clear that I had a really great night last night and was more than happy to be supporting such a wonderful event. Just interested in the emotions it threw up and the memories it stirred.

I had a peaceful and pleasant drive back to London this morning. When the sun is shining and all is fine there is little more satisfying that driving through the English countryside. Even if you are on a great big polluting fuck-off motorway.
Motorway bridges have lately become the place of political demonstration, with various pro and anti hunting messages popping up hither and thither. So I was surprised to see a banner on one bridge which read "Pick Your Own Strawberries!" I went by quite fast, but it didn't seem to mention any location or give any clue as to where you might do this. So it seemed to me more like a demand than an advert. Perhaps it was the slogan of a political group of strawberry pickers, fed up with the bourgeoisie expecting them to pick their strawberries for them and finally telling them that the time has come for them to pick their own strawberries if they want them. Not anywhere specifically, but in general. Or just someone not connected with the strawberry industry offering some advice. Pick your own strawberries. Why not?
It made me quite like the idea of buying a field and growing some strawberries in it and putting a sign up saying "Pick Your Own Strawberries" and standing by the gate all day long, but then when anyone drives up and tries to come into the field to pick some strawberries I would say "Oh no, this sign is just some advice for something you might want to do. You can't pick these strawberries, they belong to me."
I might then add "Pick your own strawberries!" but to be honest that would be too much like a punchline. I like the idea of it being just a suggestion of something people might like to try. The fact that I would have to spend all my day standing there to make it work is what makes it truly funny. It's the level of commitment required. It's not funny until it has actually been done. It's theoretically amusing to imagine it, but not truly funny until a man has spent his life savings to buy a field and then wastes his life away standing by the field, turning people away, whilst his crop remains unpicked and rotting inside. You rarely see that kind of commitment in comedy these days. I think I might give it a go.

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