Cress and Methodism

Thank you for your excellent questions. Here are the answers to some of them.

What is the point of it all?

The point of it all is the sharp bit at the end of it all. This of course begs the question “which end?” Some experts on it all have suggested that if you could get to the bottom of it all you would be able to see the point of it all. Clearly if the point is at the bottom then it follows that it all is balancing on its pointy end. That means that the current orientation of it all is inherently unstable and it all could fall over at any moment, which is certainly how it all feels.

How do carrots behave in a vacuum?

The short answer is “appallingly”. In a vacuum carrots are sullen, uncooperative, and thoughtless. They also never say “thank you” and have absolutely zero drag. However it’s worth remembering that culturally carrots have very different standards of behaviour from humans (except teenagers) so we shouldn’t be tempted to judge the sulky orange idiots.

Do these trousers make me look fat?

I’m afraid the answer is yes. Those trousers are awful.

Is yogurt alive?

Yoghurt is alive, but it’s not been well. Hence the smell.

Why is cress?

In 1911 Petrel Tressurgeon, Bodmin’s most famous aeronautical pioneer was desperate to be the first man to fly the English Channel. A fiercely loyal Cornish man, he vowed to take off from his native county, though this added one hundred and fifty three miles to the twenty-one-mile journey. Being a Methodist, Tressurgeon had no wind-sock and so like most non-conformists he checked the direction of the prevailing wind with a small handful of cress, which in those days was inedible, just as it is today. This inadvertently blew onto his lunch, a ham and cheese toasted sandwich, at which point Tressurgeon brushed the cress off with a dismissive tut and ate the sandwich. Then he turned his aircraft into the wind and with a smart crack of the whip he took off. His horse-drawn tri-plane remained airborne for one hundred and three feet, the precise height of the cliff from which he began his flight. Neither he nor his three shire-horses survived. The next morning a newspaper from London arrived announcing that Bleriot had flown the channel just two years earlier. Ever since then sandwich chefs have commemorated Tressurgeon with a sprinkle of cress. In copying his gesture of dismissively removing the cress from our toasted sandwich we honour this true British hero.

It’s possible that this last question was intended as a more philosophical inquiry into the place of garnishes in the universe. Rest assured that as this blog’s mission is to answer all possible questions at some point before the end of time, this enormously complex and painful subject along with all other possible subjects will be covered in due course.