September 22nd, 2008

Carravaggio

dixie cup love

So, Friday. Back in the days, so long ago now, when it was still winter, not summer. Anyways, Himself went mad at the grower's market and we had bangers and mash for tea: organic pork and guiness sausages, organic mashed spuds, organic salad and gluten free tapioca pudding for desert. Mind you, that's a 100km round trip so we won't be going organic too often, methinks.

Sausages weren't as good as they could be and Himself was carrying on about being expected to grill sausages without his special Nazi sausage pricking fork. Ditto mashing the tatties. Seriously, we have a Nazi sausage pricking fork. It was from some relative of my mother's who was a POW and carried this fork with him across Europe when the German army was in retreat, or some such story (you know how family stories are). Nevertheless, we have a Nazi fork. Unspeakable regime, but bitchin' cutlery. You'll find no finer fork for pricking sausages or fishing pickles out of jars, as you might expect. However, it was starting to really degrade and I had to ban Himself from using it, being as its historical and everything. Hence the grizzling over insufficiently pricked sausages. Communist forks just don't do it like fascist forks, apparently.
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