Wednesday, November 01, 2006

test post

Heh heh... clarification later. SO I may as well ramble a bit.

you know what? I was told off for trying to reaffix the big Beware of the Dog sign to our gate last night & forced to visit a local shop & stock up on junk food for visiting... kids.

As it happened all we got was one group of really young-uns & their olds, who got an assortment of really bad things for their optimistically large sacks (I dunno, I had a bunch of raw carrots, potatoes & parsnips all peeled & cut up & soaking in lemon infused water & no-one, NO-ONE wanted them. Kids these days.

Anyway, I happened to be out walking the aforementioned Hound of the Llewervilles (my family name) when they came & I got a frantic call from Mrs Llewerville, "Artichoke!" (my given name) she screamed "I fear we may run out of things to give kids!"

"Never fear Tantula", I said "When we're down to the last few barrels of airplanes I'll make a run to the shops again."

And I carried on my way.

When I got home, some 3 hours later, I found that there had been no more kids at all, and we still had some 50 kilos of fruit bursts, airplanes & snickers sitting just inside the front door.

Later, another bunch of kids did arrive, led by our very own 14 year old, Marmalade, she announced she would be late for dinner, but not to worry, she was already feeling sick.

And they swanned off into the night, a motley bunch of adolescent M&Ms, superheroes, ghosts and god knows what the rest were.

in my day, in the old country, we didn't Trick or Treat, we stayed at home, the 2nd to last house in a cul de sac bordered by a disused canal on one side, and spooky woods on the other. We dunked for apples & shit like that & watched my dad roast chestnuts on the open fire.

In fact, I recall one of those moments you get now & then, when something really painful happens to someone & you really want to just burst out laughing but you have to choke it back because there is actual agonising pain involved.

Have I told this story already?

Anyway, if you have roasted chestnuts, you know that they're not done until they pop.

Well, all my dad's chestnuts popped except for one, so he fished it out of the fire with tongs, and carefully used his teeth to try & hurry it along.

And it popped.

And it was days before the blistering died down & he could talk properly again.

End of ramble. There was something else I meant to mention, but it's gone now. SO later dudes!

BTW: Some kid left us with this - what do you call a snail? A booger with a crash helmet.