Give peas a chance

The European constitution, Fabaceae, and a country churchyard elegy.

We were having a peaceful menu the other day when, on the table to the right, a middle-aged Frenchman finished off the bottle that had accompanied his lunch, became overwhelmed by sentiment, and, the waitress having retired beyond reach, decided to shout his views on the recent constitutional referendum to the two elderly couples chatting away quietly in a mixture of Catalan and Spanish on the table to my left.

The essence (imagine non-stop upper case with the odd spot of spit): he was from Montpellier (in what the imperialists call Northern Catalonia), had been coming here for 40 years, loved Catalunya, was enamoured of my neighbours’ physical appearance and desired to kiss hands all round, and agreed with president Pasqual “Flat on his Back/Face” Maragall (with whom he was, of course, great friends) that we need a Europe of the peoples (which is how the nationalists currently market ethnic division), not states or citizens, as of course desired by the president of the accursed République Française.

First the old man directly in the firing line ignored him, and then he shifted in his seat and muttered quietly, “There are good people and bad people in every country,” which seemed a fairly sane thing to say, until I recalled Karim. Even if Karim’s blog weren’t such a pleasure to read, I would be an addict simply because of the odd spelling blowout in what is probably at least his third language. Yes, I thought, the drunk is right: what we need is a Europe of the peapoles (cf Google), with Lathyrus odoratus blooming on flag-less poles from Galway to Grete.

This pacific vision brings to mind my glorious days, nay daze, as chairman of the Mole-Hunting and Pagan Burial Committee of Casteroil Council. Many was the quiet afternoon spent sipping Anglican plonk with the sexton in the old churchyard, exchanging and contemplating artfully Photoshopped montages of Joan Baez’s head and various farmyard animals of our libertarian delight, and chanting one of Ms B’s early successes in the Authorised (Dorset) Version:

Oh father, oh father, go dig a hole.
Make it both long and narrow.
Sweet William died [sob] yesterday,
And I would plant some marrow.

You did know that the deity’s instruction to us was, in fact, to go forth and freely associate, didn’t you?

Britain Unwrapped: Government and Constitution ExplainedTainted Source: Undemocratic Origins of the European IdeaLanguage Policy Evaluation and the European Charter on Regional or Minority LanguagesPositively Fourth Street: The Lives and Times of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Mimi BVoices of the Old SeaEat Your PeasThe Sweet Pea BookControlling Your Drinking: Tools to Make Moderation Work for YouDrinking: A Love StoryA Bunch of Sweet Peas

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  1. Mouse Hunter linked with the drunk peapole
    It’s so amzing the Kalebul’s way to quote this until I recalled Karim. Even if Karim’s blog weren’t such a pleasure to read, I would be an addict simply because of the odd spelling blowout in what is probably at…

  2. In fact my arabic and french are excellent, I’m just trying to figure out some english through my modest blogging experience.

  3. Not eggcorns
    Unfortunately, like peapole, I don’t think carzy (automobile-related mental condition) qualifies, creative though it is.

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