That's shallot

I was a tender youth.  The following took place on the Salop / Staffs border.  We couldn't even smell the sea. At a (what now appears to be very English) garden fête in 1961 me and my pal Kevin McConville didn't try bowling for a pig.  The pig was perfectly capable of bowling itself.  Or guessing how many farthings were in Rev Hill's jar.  No - in an unforeseen lull in business, Fortune Teller Madame Zelda asked us if we would like to cross her palm with silver.  I could barely cross the street.  We truly didn't know what she meant.  Silver ?? Was she referring to the Lone Ranger's horse?  Anyway she lured us into her tent.  Kevin went first; l pretended not to listen by examining my Meccano badge.  It was my turn, l have forgotten ninety five per cent of her crystal ball* prediction.  However she was unerringly accurate at the end by saying that l would set my stall out and post an exceedingly inept string of Blips in March 2025.  Blips?  We thought this was something that Flash Gordon was investigating.  The ineptitude continues.....

*Now treatable via NHS 24.