Don’t worry, when a current bout of battling with some book and cover formatting issues is past, I will be getting to results of the Caption Competition, more Aloe and train pics, etc. and reports of a recent afternoon visit by blogger Kalinka and family while they were on holiday on the South Coast.
Meanwhile, it has been a long time since I have inflicted one of my homemade Really Awful Jokes on the poor people who misguidedly read this blog. In a spirit of sheer sadism, therefore, here goes:
In days of yore (and also of my; past, that is) Montmorency from the city bought a large crop farm and began farming. He had liberal ideas when it came to his labour force, and treated them with every consideration. In those pre-mechanisation days it was customary to bring in migrant labour at harvest time, and to these he also offered more generous pay and benefits than did most of the local farmers.
Instead of gratitude, however, he found that he was receiving ever-increasing demands for better food, less hours, more money, and added perks.
‘I really am tired of these complaints,’ Montmorency confided to his neighbour, Jan, ‘The labour force reapin’ my current* crop are now raisin’* objections regardin’ the hardness of the benches in the shed where they have their meals, an’ bein’ most in-sultana* bout it. Why do they behave like this?’
‘Man,’ said Jan, ‘when you started being so soft on them, you should have known it would lead to reaper cushions.’
*He had been reading The Grapes of Wrath.
© Colonialist July 2013 (WordPress)