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Thursday, 18 September 2014

Haggis Balls

'Sniff that.'
'What is it?'
'It's a Red-Ridinghood-style basketful of haggis balls.  I'm going to egg and crumb them, then deep fry them and take them along to the Fulmars' referenderenernednernernernenrnerendmum party.'
'They don't half stink.'
'I know.  They'll be all right once they're cooked.'
'Where did you get them?'
'I got them from Willie Wilde, the new eco-butcher.  They're not strictly speaking free range, mind. He's been rearing the haggis in pens in the big cave,  up on the moors.'
'So has he... have they been....'
'De-balled, yes.  He did it with rubber bands - like they do with lambs, you know.  You tie them on with a special stretchy thing, and wait for th....oh I'm sorry Tuppy, I shouldn't have mentioned that.'
'No problemmo.  It couldn't happen to me, I'm delighted to say.   I'm like an Action Man doll.  Genitally challenged.  Always have been, and always will be, if I have anything to do with it.  Which I fully intend to.  I bet they're none too pleased about that though.  The haggis, I mean.'
'No.  As a matter of fact some of them have escaped.  They're on the loose, running wild up on the moor.  They want their balls back.'
'What for?  It's not like they can be re-attached, at this late juncture.'
'They believe they can.  And in any case, it's a matter of principle.'
'Well I think you should do the right thing Geoffrey.'
'You mean give them their balls back?'
'No.  I mean get them egged and crumbed quick-style and into the deep fat fryer.  I'm starving.'

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