Green Gauges
4 October 2001
I am a green grocer. I groce green. Eight days ago I decided to live up to my name/claim. You now find me clearing my shelves of red, yellow, orange, brown and purple. Purple? Don't forget the aubergine, the red onion and grape, the shallot. Please find only green produce in my mirrored refrigeration units. Hence the cabinet reshuffle. Fruit: gone banana, norange, Gala, Russet and Pink Lady apple. In my shop Granny Smith enjoys a resurgence, more exotic products ordered to fill vacancies - high hopes for custard apples, even though they have the taste, smell, and texture of infant vomit. This isn't fascism. I allow foodstuffs which are kind of green sometimes - Golden Delicious, celeriac, onions. I concede also that the task I have set myself is, to say the least, decidedly knotty. The Pink Lady apple often sports green patches, but there's no way in the world I can admit an item which has patent ungreen as a component of its title. By the same token selecting the greenest specimens of a variety which is green only once in ten will prove costly, wasteful and perilous. Supplier today tolerated such behaviour for just short of forty seconds. I shall have to refine my criteria. As consolation to him for the rude shift in my order, I shall continue to receive a sizable consignment of ungreen fruit and veg. These I shall put to use in the pursuit of beauty and truth. In accordance with the principles of the Urr dog-people of Guatemala I am to create set-pieces from the surplus produce. The Urr see such art as a powerful symbol of mortality, the eventual rotting of the fruit and vegetables as a visual reminder, a totem if you will, of the decay attendant on all life. Initially I shall think small, accepting private commissions on the basis of work exhibited on the gable end of the shop. As I become more confident, and opportunities present themselves, I will be able to be more ambitious. Perhaps night classes will bring my techniques to the masses. No doubt local councillors will ask me to coordinate the production of an Ulster-style mural. In time I will be directing eco- sound-bites on MTV. One world. GREEN DAY + 5 A smiley fruit face now graces the outside wall, something approaching the midpoint between full-frontal Pacman and Carmen Miranda. The greengrocing trade is fairly slow at the moment. The public's persistence in buying ungreen is unexpected and, frankly, distasteful. It seems that they are unable to appreciate the new aesthetic harmony of my establishment or the firm holistic principles which govern it. The mural has generally been well-received, although the residents of the block facing have ‘phoned the council to complain about the smell. I for one am very pleased with the results. Last night down the pub I suggested to Mr Ruddock, the ironmonger, that he streamline his own business in a similar fashion. He told me to fuck right off.
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