Are these the rantings of a Somerset farmer gone mad?

1. Cabbage

I decided today tha I'm a cabbege.

[kab-ij] Slang. money, especially paper money.

No, I dun believe in no gun slinging slang.

Nice rhyme to it, that phrase. I mean, phonetic phrase. No, my idiocies dun work. I'm not one with words. 

So why, I 'ear you *arachnids ask, am I a cabbege?

1. A cabbege is edible.

2. A cabbege is green.

3. A cabbege is mostly c'mposed of layer after layer of cabbege leaves.

N'other words, a cabbege's a name for someone like me: a social r'cluse. No one's used either term part from me. I would pass it on, but I am a cabbege, and cabbeges certain can't talk.

Cabbege. Cabbege. Cabbege. After you write tha for a while it looks strange. It sounds strange if you say it too much s'well. Cabbege. 

Tha is sum'thing I would call a fennel. Too much fennel and it's disgustin. Ruins the dish. Complete.

Fennel and cabbege? Would tha coun' as gun slinging slang? Would "gun slinging slang" coun' as gun slinging slang?

*Why did I 'ddress the plural arachnids? There's only one'f me. Maybe I weren't r'ferring to myself or any list'ner of my strange thoughts. I'm pretty sure now tha I were ferring t'the arachnids. Not spiders, no. 'S the ones tha call me a cabbege. Not tha I am a cabbege. There're many arachnids in'is world, and they like t'eat cabbege, and they've many legs and sharp pincers.

But it's fine. I'm a cabbege, wi' many layers. Them layers hide t'actual cabbege tha lies inside: cabbege within cabbege which them arachnids can't get at. 

Cabbege. Cabbege. There goes tha stupid fennel again.


I'd been down in town pickin' up sum stuff for work when I saw Edwards. This were Edwards Junior, two years below me an' without 'alf a brain. The problem is, you see, there aren't no gangs or mafia 'ere. Everyone knows everyone else, don't they? It's like Hot Fuzz. Tha were proper true, only without the good lookin' boys. Guns, swans and folks who can' talk proper. The worst bit is knowin' everyone. There aren't no gangs, but there're families, and them who've been 'ere for generations. S'them who you've gotta look out for.

But what would I know? No one even pretends to know who I am. Only when they're shoving past me an' laughing. Or slittin my tyres.

I knew it were Edwards Junior. Him an' his gaggle from East Worthing. Oh, I said there weren't gangs, but 'ere it's more like cults. Clans, maybe. The ones you go on the bus with.

Not old 'nough to drive, they told me. Not old 'nough to even take out a tractor. They ain't even old 'nough for the gurt tractor! They said they was just keeping my backside out the grub. So why don't I stop 'em? They're a cult. A clan. I wouldn't dare even go through East Worthing with my parents. 

But I'm a cabbege. Why would they care? I s'ppose it all started with tha day when I met up with Becca Riley, my first proper date and the first gal I'd ever driven to town.


Back to them cabbeges.

[kab-ij] Slang. money, especially paper money.

Money. Tha would be why they call me cabbage. It only started t’other day after they’d cleared me out. Gave me no choice. I told ‘em it were illegal but they’re a clan. They got their own laws, they got their own system, and no one in this damn town would listen or care as to what they’ve done or where they’re to. They just had time to chant the name cabbage at me ‘fore they left. Taking the lot with ‘em.

I told myself I weren’t no cabbege. Not no gun slinging slang cabbege. No, I am eaten up, green and layered. That’s why I’m a cabbege, but f’course I dun realise that ‘till they gone. If I’d’a known they’d’a eat me up I wouldn’t’a drove Becca to town that day. If I’d’a’ known I wouldn’t be running ‘way from every other person in every damn village round ‘ere.

Course they all blame me. I’m the only cabbege left. They meant it tha way. Them that’re left blame me for all tha theft. Edwards and his clan gone taking the cash. I were the one questioned, weren’t I?

Why? Cause I’m a cabbege. No one really likes me but I still end up on everyone’s plate. Theft in such a small place dun go down unnoticed. Everyone has their suspicions. Everyone knows everyone. So tha means course all the suspicion were on me. I were the only one left. They dun know I were robbed too.

But tha were my fault. I dun listen when they told me I were a cabbege. I let them beat me round. I dun listen. That always were my problem. Cabbeges dun have ears, you see. Course I dun listen to ‘em. No wonder I were robbed. No wonder I let ‘em get away with it.

And why did I have to drive Becca to town tha day?

But it dun matter now. What matters is that I just saw Edwards Junior again and he weren’t running away no more. No, he’s finally shown his face again. I dun care whether he still has the damn money. I’ll make him pay. I may be a cabbege, but I can make Edwards Junior pay and in full price, whether he has that stole cabbage or no.

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