Boo

Les gens qui ne rient jamais ne sont pas des gens sérieux

Be who you are and say what you mean, those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

beanz meanz heinz and other stories

I was just browsing the shelves, marvelling at the choice of gulashy gloopy food you can buy in tins at the old supermarket inside Hala Mirowska, when suddenly I saw this:


Oh foul I thought, but remembering Marek's love of the red beans I bought them. I still think they are best eaten over a campfire when you are freezing cold and they warm you up, but they go ok with toasted sarnies as well. I guess. Fasolka indeed.

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We went to the party of a friend on Saturday. He's now in Ireland, driving things from one place to another in a warehouse as far as I can make out. His farewell grill was a laugh though - one of those times when everybody is talking rubbish but it sounds good. I even danced with his dad (in Lent! Gasp.)

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I have declared war on a bird. I used to think they were ok, birds. But this one is not playing fair. I think it's a magpie, but I can't be sure. There is one hanging around; its beady little eye follows me round all the time. But maybe it's something else. Something more cunning that waits until we're safely at work and then gets munching.

Figure one.

Why would you do that? 'Oh look, a nice yellow flower, I'll have some of that. Trphew! Gross, oh well maybe this one here is tastier. Pluh! Noooo....'

So then it moves on to these.

They used to be crocuses. Croci. Crocuses. whatever.

Grr. Bird.

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