Woah there! No high horse needed today!

I was just about to climb up on my high horse and bang on about how stupid everyone is and how we are being nannied to death by the state.  Then I actually read the article and realised that it actually made quite good sense.  

So re-stable that pony and button it miss stroppy pants!

The article in question is about asking supermarkets not to keep the daffodil bulbs near the fruit and vegetable section in case they are mistaken for onions by customers.(http://www.theguardian.com/business/2015/feb/07/keep-daffodils-away-from-food-supermarkets-told)

They do actually look quite similar

daffodil bulbThese are daffodil bulbs. ( I am going to take a leap here and hope that anyone reading this knows what an onion looks like)

They are not identical, but there are lots of different types of onions out there, and I can see how  danger might ensue.  The article ended up reminding me of a story that my mum used to tell me, and not, as I thought it would, make me cross with the health advisory board.

So I thought that I would share the story with you.

My mum had a big brother who was nine years older than her.  When he was in his late teens he used to go out drinking on the weekend (as did we all).  My mum would lay in bed and wait to hear him come home in the early hours, then sneak downstairs to see him.  (It was a proper sneak as well, she shared a bed with her Grandmother until she was sixteen) The reason for this?

My drunken Uncle liked to cook curries when he came home.  And my mum liked to help him eat them.  On this particular night my Uncle chopped up all of his onions added some meat and other veg, lots of spices and then they both greedily gobbled it up.  My mum said that it didn’t taste quite the same as normal but not that bad.  My Nanna had a vegetable rack in her kitchen, on the bottom shelf were the daffodil bulbs, where the onions, if there had been any, would have lived.

They were both violently ill.  Laid up in bed (apart from the bathroom dashes) the whole of the next day.  My Nanna was furious as she had been intending to plant them that week.  You can’t have a Welsh spring garden without daffodils in it! And that he had poisoned my mum, his own poisoning was a just punishment for his drunken mistake apparently!

My mum told that story since the sixties when it happened.  I can’t believe that it has taken this long for the health advisory board to catch on and encourage other people not to do the same thing!

So please be careful if you are a gardener, like cooking and enjoy the odd glass (ok bottle) on the weekend.  Maybe don’t keep your daffodil bulbs in the kitchen either.  My family have been very careful with ours for a long time (not that I can have flowers anymore, the dogs dead head them all as soon as they flower).

It has also taught me to try and not be so hot headed whilst sat at the keyboard.   To actually go and have a look before the internal rant has raged out of control. (I don’t know how successful I will be at that but I am going to try.) And that sometimes an article about people being poisoned can in fact bring up fond memories of much loved and missed people.

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