Harvest

The is a lot of harvesting going on around me at the moment, and as someone often devoid of blip idea's I figured I couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Here is a combine doing it's shit in a field near me. Tomorrow I hope to bring you a photo called 'Lincs Harvest' that will be similar but with the Cathedral in the background.

Which brings me succinctly on to the Cathedral. I applied for a job there as 'Fundrasining Trustee' or something similar. I'd be responsible for raising funds for the magnificent building, using mainly the medium of creative writing. One of my interview tasks is to write 500 words about the cathedral showing a passion for the heritage and a flair with words.

I reckon I can give that a damn good stab.

Had a family meal today which was nice. As both me and my Bro have mentioned our Gran is up at the moment from Exeter. There are quite a few relatives about so we convened on a local boozer for some grub.

I used to be a VERY selective eater, and to a degree I can still be odd about things. For instance a Sunday Roast is not something one should have to endure at a so called 'carvery' (by 'one' I mean 'me'). I'm not a massive fan of hard vegetables and undercooked meat and therefore the last six years have seen me never endure such an ordeal as a carvery roast. Until today. Kind of.

I expected the menu to throw up maybe a Gammon and Egg or a sumptuos yet expensive succulent sirloin. Nope.

Spag Bol? Nope.

Bit's of reconstituted fish and water packed together in a smiley face and served with beans (baked) and potatoes (chipped)? No.

No the only other option to a Sunday Roast was something containing all veg (not my scene) or sword fish. So I had the sword fish.

I'm still hungry. It came with no sauce so was as dry as Ghandi's flip flops. As soon as this is blipped I'm frying up some chicken and garnishing it with one of Lloyd Grossman's finest Bhuna sauces, all served on a bed of McCains Oven Fries. That will satisfy my man sized hunger in a John Smiths style 'no nonsense' way.

As they say in the North east: Mint.