Boor-geresy

I have been contemplating using a scarf printed with the design of mangoes as a primary clue in a murder mystery.

But now that I know of the boor-geresy thickets which grow in Erewhon--the long sharp thorns of the mature plant--the tart delight of the berry itself--I am reconsidering.

Perhaps the finest of all fruits is the gooseberry. I never say NO to a gooseberry tart.

A very near relative of the gooseberry may be found in Erewhon. There the boor-geresy thickets grow on many mountain slopes, being especially thick and heavy with fruit around the giant fallen statues.

Off the Flight Path: Adventures in Erewhon, Tasmania and Kerguelen – Eta Sonnok, 1967

After three hours search, I finally find the file. It's under 'O' rather than 'B', the first letter having been worn off the label.

By this time I'm coughing from all the dust in the basement. As I head for the door, I glance at the mannequin in the corner. How does even a mannequin survive down here? I resolve to ask the Chief about returning the mannequin to the post of sentinel next to the memorial coffee-pot.

When I walk down the hall, I realise that the ceiling lights are off in the office. Of course! Happy Hour at the Cafe.

Well. I straighten my shoulders. Someone has to finish the research.

I sit down at my desk and turn on the lamp. I brush some grit off the dull green cover of the file.

'Boor-geresy. Market Study. Wine. May, 1997.'

While a tornado ravages Sussex and environs, Mr. Piccadilly paces into the kitchen of his dim London flat where he prepares a gooseberry martini.

Bombay sapphire splashes from a cruet, lately retrieved from the freezer, and into the expectant V of the martini glass. Piccadilly tweezes a ripe candidate from a punnet of gooseberries and squeezes it gently. A drop – no more, no less – and the martini is finished. Perfect.

He raises the glass carefully, so as not to spill a drop, and toasts his friend Frank Dearie, who's by now long gone. And, thinks Piccadilly, it is probably just as well. Good riddance.

One of the greatest delights when travelling through imaginary countries is the moment of discovery when biting into an unknown fruit. I will never forget the puckering in my mouth and the great shiver that ran down my spine when one morning at breakfast I popped a small boor-geresy into my mouth. Oh, to return to Erewhon!

One of the rarest wines is made from the berry of the boor-geresy. Since it does not travel well by ship, it is best to go to Erewhon to sample the wine.

The risk is supposed to be worth it.