I am, and I may well be, alone amongst my peers in being familiar with the Mangelwurzel. I have eaten it and disliked it, although to be fair, I loathe its cousin, the beetroot. I was aware too, for example, of the mangel grinder, which allowed Old Bob Thatchit to make the mangelwurzel more accessible to Daisy by cutting the giant root into cow-sized pieces.
What I did not know was that there would be a fete in celebration this very weekend: The Great Polden Hills Mangelwurzel Day. Somewhere between Glastonbury (home of all things strange) and Bridgewater in Somerset, the contadini are busy growing spectacular examples for their mangled jamboree.
Aside from all this rooting falderal, there is something important to take on board.
