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"A Scottish Wind in the Willows on high end skunk."

"I enjoy Kate's stories..."
"A fun and spooky read..."

"The characters are so involving and
loveable that you do want them to really exist. It does read like you've
stumbled across someone's long lost diary from and alternate timeline/universe.
I quickly got into the story and loved every second of reading it...
total gem of a read by an author who deserves a lot more recognition."


Saturday, 9 August 2014

Whinge of the Week - Beans with a Cooked Breakfast, and face furniture

'I thought I was on to a winner Tuppy.  I thought for sure that I'd win the Whingers Anonymous Whinge of the Week prize hamper last night, but nobody agrees with me.  I was shouted down! Most people seem to enjoy beans and I simply can't understand it.  I feel like a stranger in my own country Tuppy!  Is it a new-fangled thing Tuppy, this beans with breakfast carry-on?'
I sighed heavily, and glared at Geoffrey through my brand-spanking-new 2-for-1-from-Spec-Spenders 'pince nez' before removing them and warming to my theme.  The heavy sigh was just an act by the way, breakfast being one of my favourite subjects.  Especially if it's freshly-cooked by someone who knows what they're doing and I'm starving and about to tuck in.  And the glare was the same - an affectation affected to draw attention to my new affectation, or 'face-furniture' - wire-rimmed 'pince nez'.
It's just a shame that some people don't appreciate style when they see it.
'I like your new half-moon specks Mr Tuppenceworth!' shrilled Chelsy, the Fulmars' three year old great-great-great-great-grand-daughter as she gambolled across their vile new decking and I tottered past along the cliffs yesterday on my way to throw the rubbish over.
'They're not half-moon specks,  you midget philistine,' I snarled,'They're 'pince-fucking-nez.'  And she ran back inside, screaming for help.
I think we can expect a rather tiresome visit from the Fulmars, later. Anyway - back to the beans with cooked breakfast topic.
'Yes Geoffrey.  It is new-fangled and not traditional by anyone's standards, no matter how low these standards happen to be. In fact, it's an indication of the preternaturally prehensile strength of the grasp of the shoddy processed foods hegemony-style-thing which has its roots deep, deep down in the blackest depths, or indeed 'bowels', of the mid-20th century and whose relentless tendrils stretch right out into the furthest reaches of the Andromeda nebula, and beyond. A traditional full-cooked involves the following, and only the following: a nicely-fried egg, with yolk showing, two rashers of grilled back bacon, one proper sausage, grilled (and none of your cheap rubbish), a grilled slice of black pudding (optional), a grilled tomato (if in season) , and half a slice of non-greasy fried bread.  Needless to add this must all be served piping-hot, on a properly-warmed, white-glazed breakfast plate. This should be preceded by something lightly citrus-y such as a small glass of fresh orange juice or half a fresh grapefruit, and accompanied by a large pot of well-brewed tea and a rack of toast, with real butter and home-made marmalade or perhaps honey.  A freshly-laundered damask napkin should be folded neatly in four and laid on the side-plate with a side-knife placed carefully on top and condiments to hand. By condiments I mean salt and pepper.  No red or brown sauce and beans certainly don't come into the proceedings at any juncture.  They're messy, and spoil the whole aesthetic.'

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