Hello,
As much as I appreciate my lovely wife Shirley’s attempts to prolong my life via roughage, there are times when a man needs a fry up. And if he still has the energy, a spot of self abuse afterwards. But never during.
So I nipped into the Corner Cafe and ordered three eggs, three sausages, four rashers, beans, tomatoes, fried slice, fried potatoes, chips, black pudding, white pudding, kidneys. liver, chicken burger, beans, mushrooms, burger, fish fingers, toast. And broccoli. Oh and a mug of tea.
In the Cafe was an old friend, Pete “The Bastard” who was ramming a raw black pudding up a poor fella’s nostril.
This bloke had laughed at Pete ”The Bastard’s” wig. I always stifle a giggle when I see it. It is made of corduroy and is laminated. But Pete “The Bastard” thinks it makes him look like Bob Marley. He’s not a man to argue with.
“Aright Bob?” he said as the last piece of black pudding filled the poor victim’s nasal cavity.
“Alright The Bastard?”
That was our conversation.
I needed the facilities and enjoyed the smell of frying bacon as I performed me business. I also read about the growing food shortage in the world and how mass starvation was years away.
I remembered my mom telling me to think about the starving children in Africa.
I cancelled the toast. I like to do my bit.
Laters.
Bob