Google+ Followers

Follow by Email

Thursday, 12 March 2015

In which One wonders what it really tastes like…

Still, still to hear his tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

One’s gone all John Keats…

Well, it is 4.22am and following a brief sortie into the kitchen cupboard, there’s nothing to scoff, so One’s thoughts drift to luuuurve in the absence of that and alternative sustinence.

Well, that’s not strictly true, Dear Reader, there is a six year old Morrison’s Christmas Pudding and three tins of Anchovies.

Make a ‘fifteen minute meal’ out of that Jamie bleedin’ Oliver.

When One was a student One always kept Birds Eye fish cakes in the freezer, because One absolutely hated them.  The fish cake of One’s youth wasn’t the sophisticated Thai-style starter of today.  Oh no, Dear Reader, it was a spongy, Fairy Snow flavoured, toxic orange, radio active breadcrumb coated landmine that could be relied upon to remain edible when One had completely run out of money and fell upon it with the glee of sated starvation.

And with equal fervour, One falls upon the romantic poets to nourish a soul starved of true love…

Blimey, O’Reilly, One has simply got to stop getting up at this ungodly hour and pontificating on matters of the heart.

I wonder what Christmas pudding and anchovy tastes like… 

No comments: