Little baby sheep, and we eat them. I often think of my dad when I eat lamb. Of all the meats, the most complicated one for my vegetarian father was lamb. I think his parents might have had some sheep. It doesn’t quite fit my inherited picture – his dad Jamie Barclay was running whiskey into America from Scotland. JB lived the second half of his life with a policeman’s bullet in his gut. Apparently it was visible through the skin, gradually being pushed out. Perhaps he used what he had made to look after sheep. I don’t know much about my unknown mobster grandpa.
So, a lamb is lamb for a year. Just a year. No more. After that the second year they call it hoggart. Then after that it’s mutton – the stuff they call ‘meat” in Indian restaurants. They aren’t offering lamb, nor should they l. You are gonna be fine with a “meat” vindaloo. You’re not the princess and the pea.
Dad was a vegetarian in the eighties, by choice and yes, with a degree of flexibility. He was extremely well traveled. In some circumstances you starve if you can’t compromise. He hit on The Gerson Technique when his cancer manifested though.. Extreme abstinence. He mostly had juice and supplements and enemas for years at the end of his life. But at the very end, perhaps when he knew that the pathogens were finally winning no matter what, he would eat mutton pies, and he’d pretend that it was my brother and I eating them. So yeah, he missed eating mutton. That was the meat that he returned to at the end. Grown up sheepmeat. Baah
I did some research about sheep. This all happened because my friend told me they would be with me in “two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I got to thinking: what is the longest possible time between the first and second shake.
If a lamb were to shake its tail once, immediately, upon being born and then if it were to lose the ability to make such a tail shake action until just before its first birthday… Well, it means that the distance between the first and second lambtail shake can be up to buy no more than a single calendar year. If it shakes that booty any later, it’s too late, it’s hoggart.
I’m in Richmond. Falling asleep. Done for the night, hanging out with friends. Thinking about ridiculous pointless phrases. Life is good. But I’ve gotta connect with my playwright tomorrow. I’m glad. A touch more space to make sure she feels it’s hers…