Squash

Squash. I don't mean the kind of squash that you drink, or squash as in standing on a rotten apple, I don't mean squash as in thirty people in a normal sitting room. I mean, the squash that you eat.

Years ago when I was nine or ten and read LITTLE WOMEN I realised that a squash was something you ate, but I had no idea what sort of something, or whether I'd like it. We didn't have them in the UK then. We had marrows, which are a bit similar but by no means the same. As for pumpkins, they were only in storybooks. We made lanterns by chiselling the inside out of a swede (that's swede with a small 's', you notice) and believe me, it was like hacking through marble.

It's only in the last, say, ten or fifteen years that squashes have become popular here, and what a range of them! They come in colour from yellow to orange to deep green and I wouldn't be surprised to meet a purple one, and in size from a cricket ball to a hot air balloon. I know people who do wonderful things with squashes. Lady Sunshine is a complete genius of the squash. I bought one today - I forgot what kind it is, but it's dark green and about the size of a mango. I think I'm supposed to cook it whole, scoop its insides out and serve it with butter. If in doubt, I can paint it orange and tell it it's a mango. Or plant it and see what happens. Or hollow it out and make a lantern. Or ask Lady Sunshine. Come to think of it, I should do that first. And do it quickly, before Apple puts in in her revolting cordial. She's got that focused look about her.