Celeriac it is then

Life is short, and every week I like to try something new—especially when it comes to food and drink; thus I discovered the joy of Roquefort, Pataks Aubergine pickle in cheese sandwiches, the competing merits of Marks and Spencers pork sage and onion stuffing Vs the lighter sage and onion stuffing from Waitrose. One day I will sample celeriac.

Not too sure whether I will sample the latest offering from the Monmouthshire Beacon.

Amidst its pages advertising Welsh Government Grants for Hedges, Shakespeare's magical comedy in Penault, a decade of tea dancing at Bridges and the celebratory bell ringers of St Teilo’s, I came across this:

 ‘Sell-out swingers festival to arrive later this month.’ It’s euphemistically billed as ‘the biggest lifestyle event of the year,’ which I’d find more convincing if it didn’t involve caravans and tents on a mystery Monmouthshire farm. Interestingly on an adjacent page I read, ‘Help your Dad improve his mood this father’s day’ (or at least confuse him.)

But back to the Swingers, all of whom will be wearing wristbands showing their sexual preferences and exhorted to ‘Be clean, smell nice, look good, feel good,’ (which clearly discriminates against Keyton)

As one of its organiser’s said, it’s for ‘…people that are sexually open minded in general.’ To me it sounds like Bear Gryls on steroids and presumably excludes one of our local councillors who approved the decision"

“What people do in their private lives between consenting adults is no one else’s business really, but I won’t be buying a ticket!” Nor, I suppose, will I. Celeriac it is then.