Polly Wants a Cracker.
Shopping day again & Mrs TD decided that we should have lunch at the local garden emporium – as was our wont in the days before digestive disorders. While I partook of soup and a coffee, she ate most of a slice of toasted white bread and butter, washed down by a glass of water. In a fortnight she is due to see a dietary expert who may allow the consumption of real food - under supervision; life may even start to return to normality – one lives in hope.
The rather garish parrot in the Blip reminded me of a Kenneth Horne sketch, from the days when radio comedy was funny, in which a parrot was described as a polyglot because it could say, “Polly wants a cracker” in twelve different languages – though, now that I come to think about it, It does seem to lose a little something in the translation.