Smelly cheese

I am not sure what Veronica Steele would have made of the consternation that was caused by one of her cheeses this morning by the kitchen on the 5th floor of the office. I had bought a small round of Milleen and somehow the smell lingered longer than I intended.

There have been times when I have thought that rather than bringing the odd box of Irish fudge into the office after a trip to Ireland I could bring a small round of good cheese, cut it into bite sized pieces and leave it in the kitchen for people to help themselves.

But after this morning I am not so sure.

It was probably my fault. The cheese had been bought from the supermarket in Schull Sunday morning. I wasn’t buying anything else and it fitted fine in my jacket pocket so I slipped it in there and promptly forgot about it.

Even on quietest day in Schull Hacketts will be open for lunch and there will be open crab sandwiches. So we slipped around the table under the window that looks out over the bar so as you order the second round it can be handed through without the need to lift backside from seat to go fetch.

We ordered and then ate our open crab sandwiches and then someone had the bright idea to ask for a plate of cheese and bread together with another pint. That came as well and all was good in the world apart from the music which was the Eric Clapton Unplugged album. There was a time I thought I might like Eric Clapton but it only last a very short while and with the benefit of hindsight I realise the bits I did like had Duane Allman along for the ride. Eventually someone was deputised to ask if there was anything else other than Eric Clapton.

It transpired that there was but sadly it involved Noel Gallagher. Even now, 24 hours later, the clash and thunder of an unnecessary Champagne Supernova can be heard in my mind’s ear.

All the time the small round of Milleen stayed snug and warm and gathering some history in my pocket.

After lunch we were in a car and back to the airport. Replete with crab, pints and cheese I fell asleep on the backseat in such a way so as to exert almost maximum pressure on the Milleen.

It was only when we got to the airport that I put my hand in the pocket only to pull out the slightly warm, very flat cheese and which had already started to give off the smell of a rank farmyard. I found somewhere more suitable for it and wrote it off for tomorrow’s sandwiches.

By the time I came to make them this morning it had started to take on a smell of its own, deep and giving and redolent off a jockey’s underpants after a two mile chase.

Once in the office this morning the sandwiches were placed in the fridge. Twenty minutes later I was asked if they were the cause of the smell which had apparently emptied the fridge of everyone else’s lunch and was about to consign mine to the bin.

I had to confess that this was indeed my cheese. It was rescued from the fridge and swaddled in plastic bags until lunch when it was eaten with pleasure.

Not many people spoke to me for the rest of the day.

At home there is a lot more cheese in the fridge to go!

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