I was standing at the checkout at the Newmarket Tesco's yesterday - interesing place, Newmarket, lots of bow-legged little men and muscular women with moustaches, but I digress - when I noticed, as you do, the purchases of the lady in front of me. She had a spectacular bosom, an object of great beauty, but I wouldn't want to have to carry that around on my front: my wine-fed embonpoint is quite enough for me. Don't worry, the bosom has no further part in this story (although it WAS magnificent and it is as well, for the sake of my continued survival, that she was not sitting on a John Deere tractor at the time).
"What is that?" I asked, pointing at a curious gourd-like object in her pile of purchases (You get bolder when you get older, and don't mind asking questions like that of buxom women whom you have never met before. About the only consolation of becoming an Old Scrote)
And it was a butternut squash. It looked to me an ideal object to gouge the contents out of, put a 25mm diameter circular hole in the side and hang it in a tree for Blue Tits to nest in.
But apparently you can make soup out of them. It was her way, she said, of making sure her children had their vegetable fix without realising it.
Magnificent. I wish I could have taken a photograph.