I Love my butcher
I love my butcher. He cures his own bacon. He sells old school cuts like skirt, shin and cheeks. And he rides a bike. Not to deliver (but he does do liver - the old ones are the best). In his spare time. He rides well, averaging 18-20 mph on a 70 miler. I cycle too (not quite as fast). This shared love of cycling (I’m 45 and my favourite thing is still playing out on bikes with my mates) is a problem when I want to pop in for some bacon quickly. First I sell him some of our duck eggs, that takes a bit of time. Then I order the bacon, or belly pork, or skirt. Then we talk bikes and biking.
30 minutes later I leave. His daughter who runs the shop with him knows the form and accepts short directions from him between talk of gear ratios and seat angles. I love this. Yes it takes time. Yes it irritates his daughter (and maybe my wife). Yes we get a big queue forming behind us. But it’s banter. It’s a relationship. It’s another thing that stops me buying meat from one of the supermarkets (try having a conversation about chamois cream in tesco). Long may my butcher (Tim at W Taylor in Measham) continue spinning. In a world of online offers and the declining value of the high street retailers have to offer more. For Tim it’s cycling banter, a marrow bone for the dog and a “special” of 3kg of topside for £9.99 when Leicester City got promotion. You’ve got to know your market.