Nice Fat Gurdie

Nice Fat Gurdie (113)

There was always something about them, the way they’d come into town, aproned and polka dotted, that made me want to put on a kerchief and slip into the middle of their other-worldly little flock.

As if in solidarity with my lemming-like herd of small appliances (the untimely expirations of which I lately disparaged in print), my smoke detector has a death wish.

Hubris.See also: Pride. It’s an expectation that far exceeds the scope of one’s being.

Wednesday, 27 April 2016 15:05

Tripe, chicken necks and tea in the crypt

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Had it been a recipe contest, tripe might be a hard winner to swallow.

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