Collect the following: the bottom of a shoe and an old piece of rope, hands from a watch and mechanical soap; eyelashes and straps, staples and maps; seedlings and gravel, a wand and an apple; elephantine tubas and a sandwich board, the inside of a boomerang and part of a sword; interesting mould and custard juice, retractable pens and cous-cous; treasury tags and an elastic band, the bottom of a shoe and flammable sand; a dwarf door and zips, compost and lego bricks; little cups and old keys, buttercream and dead bees; a lion’s head and a carbon footprint, sawdust sachets and assorted lint; an art dealer’s eye and a perfumer’s nose, a dented crash helmet and an old man’s clothes; laminated cake and thunderstorm dust, dogwool and aged earring rust; shoe laces and jelly of beef, ear lobes and crusty teeth; bald spots and chairs for sheep, peanuts and a potpurri heap; pencil sharpeners and a car boot, tin windows and a nose flute; ham forks and tea spoons, meringue and popped balloons; old telephones and skis, blu-tac and mechanical knees.
I thought myself somewhat unlucky that the first time that I ever appeared on the front page of a national newspaper I was unable to read what was written about me.
I could make out the picture of myself, looking bewildered and scared in the supermarket, but the words meant nothing to me. The letters were just shapes that meant nothing that my brain could believe in. Frustrated, I ripped the paper in two and went to the kitchen to read the labels of tins and packets. Continue reading
The very first apocalypse I ever experienced began on a sunny Thursday at about two o’clock whilst I was out buying stamps. Gigantic, invisible monsters with gigantic, invisible granite teeth began silently eating all of the oxygen out of the air. There were roughly six hundred thousand and twenty three of them and they worked steadily throughout the afternoon so that by half past four there was hardly anything left to breathe. As I expired I remember being impressed by the monsters’ work ethic. Continue reading
If I was to claim that A Piece Of Cake (Mill Street, Guernsey) was the best cake shop in Britain you would probably point out that I have not been in them all. You would be wrong, I have been in them all and I proclaim A Piece Of Cake to be the best. OK, so I may have missed a few out in places that are not in Bury, Lancaster or Manchester but we will overlook that for a moment and spend a few moments dancing amongst some of their finest delights. Continue reading
Jaori Loverduck, our loveable rogue of a chef and regular contributor has been off on his travels – learning new techniques, expanding his culinary boundaries, running away from the law. Apparently there is new legislation in place regarding the capture and incarceration of fake chefs, and the government seem to think Jaori is fake. Anyway, he’s back now and ready to serve up another delicious treat. Take it away Jaori! Continue reading
He was still asleep and wouldn’t feel anything so she got her tweezers and pulled it and it came out. That irritating little hair smack bang in the centre of his face, right between his eyebrows. The one that made him look slightly ogreish. Now he was back to his most handsome. Pulling the hair had woken him but he remained horizontal and she looked down at him and smiled and said good morning and though he was slightly pained and confused he smiled and said good morning back. Continue reading