Those who are regular readers (and who among can admit that you are not? None of you, that’s who. Cause then I’d cry, and pout, and do the whole crying-pouting thing, which would make everyone a little embarrassed, so just say you read this blog all the time, okay?) will remember that I’m a big fan of the works of Anthony Trollope. So much so, I have to admit, that I own every book of his that’s readily available, and a number that aren’t as readily available. But there are still a lot that I haven’t read – he was a prolific dude. To track one remaining Trollopean holdout, I had to find a copy via a company called Forgotten Books, which prints facsimiles from old old texts. So, no footnotes here. But that’s okay with me, cause I’m knee deep in another Victorian country tale, one that started early with the following quote (said quote why the book is being mentioned on this blog. But you might have guessed that) talking about the town and about the townspeople’s drink of choice:
There rages a feud in Bullhampton touching this want of a market, as there are certain Bullhamptonites who aver that the charter giving all rights of a market to Bullhampton does exist; and that at one period in its history the market existed also – for a year or two; but the three bakers and the two butchers are opposed to change, and the patriots of the place, though the declaim on the matter over their evening pipes and gin-and-water, have not enough of matutinal zeal to carry out their purpose.
¬ Anthony Trollope, The Vicar of Bullhampton