If I hadn’t been there to witness it, I probably wouldn’t believe this story was true.
In my limited common sense, I’d decided to take Goon with me to Borough market in the hope he would like the cool stuff there and perhaps even buy something other than ostrich for a change. I was also hoping to teach him where all the stalls were so I could send him shopping one Friday lunchtime. 
But Goon wasn’t as impressed as I hoped he would be. He followed me around but didn’t pay much attention. He had some fun prodding some headless rabbits by the Furness game stall but lost interest after a few minutes.
I didn’t complain too much at his apathy. It was useful to have him there. It turns out that being accompanied by a 6ft 5 tall Goon, who is dressed like a hit man, makes the crowds get out of your way VERY quickly, which is a rather useful thing in Borough on a Saturday afternoon.
After I’d done my shopping I asked Goon if there was anything else he wanted to see, He shrugged and grunted. I took that as a no. So I said, “Ok then, I’ll just go have a quick look at the cheese then we’ll go get lunch.”
I didn’t get the response I expected.
“Huh? Cheese? Where’s the cheese?” I pointed towards the other side of the market.Two seconds later, Goon was gone.
I tried to follow, but without Goon’s ’dangerous’ look, I was stuck, moving at a snails pace with the rest of the crowd.
Fifteen minutes later I found him standing behind the counter of an Italian cheese stall. I wondered why the farmers had taken him back there. I was not happy when I found out. One of the farmers was gesticulating enthusiastically around a large cheese, looking very, very smug.
“…and then you cut it in half again…. and wrap this bit up very tightly….” he paused as I joined them behind the table. ”You a friend of his? I hope you like Gorgonzola.” My heart sank.
“Oh, no. Please tell me he hasn’t!”
“Your friend here has bought this.”
“Oh my God. How big IS that?”
“Oh, about twelve kilos or so - I’ll weigh it up in a second.”
I couldn’t believe it. Goon had been out of my sight for fifteen minutes and he already managed to buy twelve kilos of one what was possibly the stinkiest blue cheese in the world. My stomach turned as I thought of the tube ride home.
The farmer heaved the cheese onto the weighing scales, which clearly were not designed for something of that size. “Well, that comes to… £98.43.” My jaw hit the floor. “Tell you what, give me £100 to make it easy and I’ll give you this goats cheese and throw in two of these too. He handed me a bag of what what appeared to be a buffalo milk cheese.
Goon nodded enthusiastically for a second then looked confused. He turned to me and said “Can I borrow £20?”
Cheeky bastard.
On the way home, Goon was being very protective of his cheese.
I don’t know why. Who in the world would try to steal 12kg of gorgonzola from a leather-clad giant?
The cheese was so stinky that, even though both Goon and I live in Hammersmith, I got the sudden urge to leave the train at Green Park, a good four miles away from my destination.
When I eventually got back to Goon’s and he opened the door, I was actually overwhelmed by the stench of cheese. Without a garage or a cellar, Goon had decided to store the gorgonzola in his living room.
As I’m sure you can guess, the other residents weren’t best pleased. Fortunately it turned out that the cheese wasn’t going to be there for much longer as Goon was going to give it to his dad as a birthday present.
So Goon’s poor father is probably at this moment carrying a twelve kilo cheese on the train from London to Leeds. I suppose the upside is he’ll get a carriage to himself!
If I hadn’t been there to witness it, I probably wouldn’t believe this story was true.
In my limited common sense, I’d decided to take Goon with me to Borough market in the hope he would like the cool stuff there and perhaps even buy something other than ostrich for a change. I was also hoping to teach him where all the stalls were so I could send him shopping one Friday lunchtime.
But Goon wasn’t as impressed as I hoped he would be. He followed me around but didn’t pay much attention. He had some fun prodding some headless rabbits by the Furness game stall but lost interest after a few minutes.
I didn’t complain too much at his apathy. It was useful to have him there. It turns out that being accompanied by a 6ft 5 tall Goon, who is dressed like a hit man, makes the crowds get out of your way VERY quickly, which is a rather useful thing in Borough on a Saturday afternoon.
After I’d done my shopping I asked Goon if there was anything else he wanted to see, He shrugged and grunted. I took that as a no. So I said, “Ok then, I’ll just go have a quick look at the cheese then we’ll go get lunch.”
I didn’t get the response I expected.
“Huh? Cheese? Where’s the cheese?” I pointed towards the other side of the market.Two seconds later, Goon was gone.
I tried to follow, but without Goon’s ’dangerous’ look, I was stuck, moving at a snails pace with the rest of the crowd.
Fifteen minutes later I found him standing behind the counter of an Italian cheese stall. I wondered why the farmers had taken him back there. I was not happy when I found out. One of the farmers was gesticulating enthusiastically around a large cheese, looking very, very smug.
“…and then you cut it in half again…. and wrap this bit up very tightly….” he paused as I joined them behind the table. ”You a friend of his? I hope you like Gorgonzola.” My heart sank.
“Oh, no. Please tell me he hasn’t!”
“Your friend here has bought this.”
“Oh my God. How big IS that?”
“Oh, about twelve kilos or so - I’ll weigh it up in a second.”
I couldn’t believe it. Goon had been out of my sight for fifteen minutes and he already managed to buy twelve kilos of one what was possibly the stinkiest blue cheese in the world. My stomach turned as I thought of the tube ride home.
The farmer heaved the cheese onto the weighing scales, which clearly were not designed for something of that size. “Well, that comes to… £98.43.” My jaw hit the floor. “Tell you what, give me £100 to make it easy and I’ll give you this goats cheese and throw in two of these too. He handed me a bag of what what appeared to be a buffalo milk cheese.
Goon nodded enthusiastically for a second then looked confused. He turned to me and said “Can I borrow £20?”
Cheeky bastard.
On the way home, Goon was being very protective of his cheese.
I don’t know why. Who in the world would try to steal 12kg of gorgonzola from a leather-clad giant?
The cheese was so stinky that, even though both Goon and I live in Hammersmith, I got the sudden urge to leave the train at Green Park, a good four miles away from my destination.
When I eventually got back to Goon’s and he opened the door, I was actually overwhelmed by the stench of cheese. Without a garage or a cellar, Goon had decided to store the gorgonzola in his living room.
As I’m sure you can guess, the other residents weren’t best pleased. Fortunately it turned out that the cheese wasn’t going to be there for much longer as Goon was going to give it to his dad as a birthday present.
So Goon’s poor father is probably at this moment carrying a twelve kilo cheese on the train from London to Leeds. I suppose the upside is he’ll get a carriage to himself!
What the hell are you going to do with all that cheese??????
Comment by Freya Erickson — January 30, 2007 @ 8:29 pm
You mean, what the hell is Goon’s Dad going to do with all that cheese (see last paragraph)? I don’t know, I suppose he may eat it all eventually but I suspect that since it is still ‘living’, it might grow legs and walk away before that happens!
Comment by ros — January 30, 2007 @ 8:33 pm
When I was very young my parents read me classic bedtime books, many of which stuck in my mind. One of them was Jerome K. Jerome’s “Three Men In A Boat”. I recall a brilliant episode in this book about travelling with stinky cheeses. I just looked it up on the web, and here it is, after all these years: 3 Men In A Boat Ch4. I’m definitely planning a trip to Borough Market again soon!
Comment by Trig — January 30, 2007 @ 10:50 pm
Oh but Goon is such a cutey. Is there anything more dear than a man and his cheese? My GH loves the huge wheels of cheese too…its almost like metal to magnet. Hey Rosh, I’m going to be in London in Late March with a plan to go to Borough on a Saturday. Maybe we can meet up?
Comment by Vanessa — January 31, 2007 @ 4:38 am
Actually - really, what IS he going to do with that cheese. I mean does he have a very large family in Leeds.
Comment by Great Big Veg Challenge — January 31, 2007 @ 10:31 am
Sorry Ros, didn’t see the last paragraph as my husband was ogling the cheese himself! What is it about men and cheese? It’s as if they like to hoard it for an impending nuclear war or something..we have a cheese box in the fridge that has literally started it’s own culture in there. I’m scared to open it just in case something jumps out at me and sucks my brains out! It was a wonderful story though Ros!
Comment by Freya — January 31, 2007 @ 10:52 am
Trig, I’m planning another trip to Borough soon too: perhaps this Friday. This time I’m leaving Goon at home!
Vanessa, It would be great to meet up in March! My e-mail address is on the ‘About’ page so you can send me a message nearer the time.
GBVC: No, he hasn’t got a particularly big family there. In fact since his brother is away it will just be his parents there with the cheese. It is supposed to keep for a long time but it looks like there’s well over a years supply of it!
Freya, There’s a stilton in Goon’s fridge that is going that way. I swear it walks between shelves when I shut the fridge door.
Comment by ros — January 31, 2007 @ 4:01 pm
Oh. My. God! That’s hilarious!
My boyf. doesn’t like cheese, not even a cheesy sauce, nor creamy sauces. Boooooooo.
Comment by Schmoofaloof — January 31, 2007 @ 5:22 pm
“Goon” was telling us about this on IRC and I, for one, couldn’t honestly imagine the huge block of cheese he was carrying on the tube, so I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for a hilarious blog entry and for opening my eyes to a number of things to cook in the process
Comment by the_angry_angel — February 1, 2007 @ 1:54 am
Schmoof, that’s terrible- poor you! If it were me, I’d just ignore him and cook them anyway but I am a stubborn git.
Angry Angel, welcome to the site.
I think if you didn’t know Goon well, and there weren’t any pictures, this story would be pretty hard to believe!
Comment by ros — February 1, 2007 @ 5:49 pm
funniest thing ive read all week
goon is a mouse
Comment by kirsten — February 1, 2007 @ 6:25 pm
If he’s a mouse, he’s one hell of a big mouse!
Comment by ros — February 1, 2007 @ 6:27 pm
Umm, in the context “goon is a mouse”, what does the word “mouse” mean?
Comment by Andy — February 1, 2007 @ 10:46 pm
What does mouse mean? It means MOUSE. Small, squeaky, LIKES CHEESE! True they also defecate al over the worksurfaces, but I’ve never known you to do that, so I’m sure that isn’t what Kirsten means.
See, this is why we call him Goon.
Comment by ros — February 1, 2007 @ 10:56 pm
Oops
I thought it was some kind of stealth ninja insult!
Comment by Andy — February 1, 2007 @ 11:05 pm
LOL! But take it from me - you can do *a lot* worse than a man who buys too much cheese
Comment by Jeanne — February 2, 2007 @ 7:09 pm
Hey - if the only thing wrong with your man is that he buys a lot of cheese - there ain’t anything wrong with your man! Marry him! Now!
Comment by Yorkshire Deli — February 3, 2007 @ 11:49 pm