These two Indian style dishes will blow your socks off ! Not with their heat but by their luxurious taste and appearance.
Ideal for dinner party for six when you want to do something different and can plan ahead.
—ooo—
RAAN (leg of lamb dish)
Remember if you want to have this for dinner on Saturday night you need to do all this preparation on the Thursday.
Take one good size leg of lamb and trim off all excess fat.
Prick the leg of lamb all over with a skewer. With a sharp knife make several deep gashes in the flesh. Put leg into the pan in which you will be roasting it.
Foodge’s nightmares continued unabated. Every night, between three and four Granny would be woken by his thrashing and groaning. It was always the same dream; Foodge’s disembodied head in a box. Every time Granny gleaned little bits of additional information before Foodge slipped back to a slumber punctuated by snores, coughs, obstructive episodes and loud farts. Sometimes Foodge replied in Spanish. Occasionally he’d stand up and try to micturate behind the tall boy. One time he was as randy as all hell, but every time he had no memory the next morning. Granny spent the hours between Foodge’s dream and dawn pondering the meaning of these dreams.
……………………………………………….
Foodge has a dream…
Foodge has experienced a reasonable day, that is, until Father O’Way arrived in a pretty summer dress with his hair tumbling over his shoulders and his old navy tattoos on display for…
Took me a while but found this. This episode became the cornerstone for heaps of stories on the PA’s and it’s thanks to its creator Emmjay. What happened over time was a unique situation where other writers took the original characters on a different path than Emmjay might have ever suspected. Sandshoe and I discussed this at length many years ago. We both agreed that it may be a world first. HOO knows :). BTW I see this was reposted in 2015 and was created in 2009. Wow, amazing.
I could sense the sickly smell of blood. My hand was in a wet pool. Too soon to open the eyes.
A small panel beater was hammering out the dents on the inside of my eyeballs and my mouth felt like a camel train had camped there overnight.
Whatever was out there on the other side of my eyelids was going to have to wait until the hammering eased up a little.
But the headache was not the main problem. Beyond the headache, the right cheek of my arse was screaming louder than my head. I decided to feel it. Mistake. It was wet. It was wet with my blood.
I had taken one in the backside for the good guys.
But there was no wound. There was a welt though. I could feel that well enough. I crawled across the threadbare Axminster into…
Algernon often produces a real gem with his lists of music, this is one of them. I hadn’t heard this album before, only the hit, and I was really impressed. Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and Dusty Springfield are usually in my top ten but I do really like this one. Out of the modern stuff, Nelly Furtado is the standout along with maybe Adele, the rest are boring and repetitive in my view Hope you all enjoy it again.
The Delta Sweete was the second album released by Bobbie Gentry in 1968 after her debut album Ode to Billie Joe, commercially it wasn’t that successful but beautifully produced none the less. Indie Band, Mercury Rev have reimaged this album releasing The Delta Sweete Revisited, in collaboration with several female artists. The album was released this week.
This is close to one of my favourites. It came from when Tutu and I went out for a coffee and when served I was asked if I wanted a mug. That was the spark and it reminded me of when we would go to the SCG from the Gong to watch test cricket. Someone in the crowd would inevitably call out, have a go ya mug. How the rest of the story developed is beyond me.
Oh what a glorious day, hmm, the sun has risen, well about 6 hours ago and life is under way in it’s usual manner. Merv rises from the love tub and saunters into the front bar.
“Granny, I want a mug from now on” orders Merv.
“Fark ewe, they is two ex-pensive” replies Granny.
“Well how ex-pensive are they?”
“Well think of ex-pensive then add a shit load more. I’ll take you down to the mug shop, I’m sure you have been there before” continues Granny.
So off they trod down the road and around the corner to the Mug Shop. Merv immediately realises that he has been coming here well, is your whole life a lot?
Granny takes Merv to the mug counter. Please take a ticket the sign says so Granny retrieves one.
The ticket says Thank you. You have been countered…
Hi all, Mark here. I want to start remembering some stories from the vault that we all went through over the years. Mostly fun but at times we fell out with each other for varying reasons. Me, the only one banned 3 times. Hilarious.
When I started blogging at the ABC I was traveling okay but then moving to the Pigs Arms I had many problems. Health, alcohol, pot, and work-a-holic, 60hrs pw plus. I survived and lots of the stuff I wrote as Father O’Way was on my up cycle, i.e., I’m Bi-Polar but fall into the hardest category to diagnose being depression plus hypomania. I am no longer ashamed of this. I accept my disability and take medication that helps me overcome this. I do falterer from time to time as Ace(Algernon) knows.
About my writing style. I aimed for stupid. I was once compared to Spike Milligan. Wow, what an honour. Mike Jones asked me to run with a couple of characters in the early days of the Pigs Arms, one of which was Father O’Way. I picked FOW as I had endured a catholic school education which I absolutely hated, this was time for revenge, a priest that didn’t believe in God. Leading to Gordon O’Donnell, the creator of the universe. Interestingly, I had created Gordon at a Christmas party with my family decades before.
Anything inside brackets is meant to be a dialogue between the character and the author. I thought this was unique at the time however Mrs. Browns Boys does similar. I’m uncertain that I was influenced by Brendan O’Carroll as I had never watched the show.
Surprisingly, some of the sentences I wrote that absolutely cracked me up still amuse me and make me wonder if they did for you. This makes me laugh still. Here’s some examples in the link below,
“Sister Horribleness …” Anyone that went to a catholic school had one or more of these.
“Don’t wanna type too loud here just in case the old bat can still hear.”
“Yes, your Excellency,” I say beauteously.
Bishop Bent picked up the bill which was paid for by attendees of the church, unbelievable people in my view. You know, you would almost think this was fiction. Veri Bent to me was very poignant.
“Meet to glad you”
Anyway, here’s the link. I won’t try a re-post as I can’t supply all of the cute photos. Enjoy.
I finally made it into another episode says Mother O’Way…
Nothing to do with the story but nice to look at…
By Big M.
“Yer goin’ where?” Granny pointed a gnarled finger in Foodge’s face.
“Lunn Donne.” Foodge retorted.
“Lunn Fucking Donne!”
“No, London England.” Foodge wasn’t comfortable with this sort of swearing before lunch, or at least before a few beverages.
“London Fucking England!”
“No, just London in England. I don’t think London copulates with England.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Boyoh!”
“I’m not being smart, or even half smart.” Foodge replied, which was true, Foodge was neither smart nor half smart. Half measures worried Foodge. One could be a wit, which was thought to be a great thing, whereas a half-wit was a pejorative word for idiot. Describing someone as smart was high praise, but half smart implied cheekiness, not half wittery.
Trotters Ale cures all ills…
Emmjay, Hung and M hadn’t accounted for Granny’s reaction when they’d decided to send Foodge to Britain to be Special Envoy, or Chief Photographer or whatever the fuck they’d planned.
“Well, it’s by special request, from…you know, certain people, well connected people.” This wasn’t completely true, but the invite involved a firm of solicitors.
“Special Fucking People! Royal Fucking People. What about our relationship?” Granny had let go of her aggressive tone and had moved into the looking crest fallen, just about to cry stage of the argument.
Foodge started to panic. Are we going to have a long chat about our relationship? Is she going to expect me to talk about my feelings? He suddenly realised that Granny couldn’t have a passport because she’d never travelled further than Milson’s Point. “Granny, I may have failed to convey all of the, err, ah, implications of the invitation, I mean, as my, err, partner, I mean, love of my life, you are, um, my plus one, my, other half…”
“Oh, Foodge, that’s a different matter.” Granny was suddenly coquettish. “When’s this trip takin’ place?”
“Soon, my love, very soon.” Foodge’s voice had taken on a soothing quality. “It may be difficult to organise during the Lock Down, but there are always strings that one can pull.”
Just the two of us…
“Oh, goody, I’ll have to get all new underwear and nighties. Shoes..no, leave room for purchases. I guess I can always use the empty space in Foodge’s port. Oh, and I better get my passport out of the safe…”
“Passport?” Foodge gulped and had become noticeably pale. “Won’t it need to be renewed?”
“No, I’ve always kept it up to date, just in case. Don’t you?”
Foodge thought for a second. His passport did need renewal. He was well and truly hoisted by his own petard. Granny had already raced up to her room. Merv’s disgusting visage suddenly appeared across the bar. “Sounds like you need a drink, old son.”
Make it a double!” Foodge collapsed onto a stool. “You won’t believe what I’ve done.”
“I do believe what you’ve done, you was ‘opin’ that Granny wouldn’t have a passport an’ you’d get away to the Old Dart for an ‘olidee.” Merv was already sounding like a Cockney Publican.
“Was it that obvious?”
“I don’t think she knew, but you was ‘oisted by yer own petard.” Merv was unaware that the narrator had just said that on account of him not being part of the last scene.
“What will I do?” Read a few lines ahead sounds good.
“Well, aside from killing yerself…”Merv was already pushing a second canoe across the filthy, stained bar. “Nah, only jokin”, I reckon you’ll ‘ave a hard time getting’ outta the country at the moment, plus the Poms won’t be real welcomin’.”
“No, Mr Merv, it’s official business, you know, top people involved, movers and shakers.” Foodge drained the second pint of Trotters Best. “ This will involve intelligence, planning and courage.” All three were on short supply at the Pigs Arms. “There is one urgent matter to attend.”
Two albums this time, both 50 years old. The first, arguably The Rolling Stones best album, the second, Neil Young’s first solo effort Harvest. Initially both weren’t that well received by the critic but both found their followers. Enjoy.
The laminex desk was completely obscured by files, form guides, stained coffee cups and an overflowing ashtray. There was evidence of a previous avalanche of files onto the floor next to the grey, metal bin, which no one had bothered to tidy up. The black, Bakelite phone jangled impatiently, before a gnarled, nicotine stained hand grabbed up the handset. “Detective Chief Inspector Acker Rogerson speakin’. I’d recognise that voice anywhere…Mervette!” Hysterical laughter was followed by a coughing fit, which subsided with two puffs of Ventolin and a Marlborough Red. Two minutes elapsed before Inspector Rogerson rasped. “Just jokin’, Merv, how are ya?”
Merv didn’t appreciate the joke, so pressed on. “I’m well, but I’ve got a MisPer for you.”
“Why not get the Missing Persons Bureau to chase it up?”
“It’s a cold case. Pole dancer from the nineties. Had a sprog with Foodge. Went the whole nine yards, married, expensive honeymoon, shacked up in Darlo, then she pissed off with the kid. It seems she had joined some cult.” Merv summarised.
“Yeah, I remember. There was a heap of missing sheilas with similar backgrounds. We assumed they’d all fucked off somewhere and drank the communal Kool-Aid on the way to joining Halle’s comet, or some such thing. Why has Foodge developed a sudden interest? Has there been contact from the Mother Ship?”
“Dunno, somehow came up in conversation.” Merv didn’t really want to discuss Foodge’s penchant for the Scouts. “You know he’s shacked up here with Granny who knows nothing about this?”
“It’s common knowledge, old son. I wouldn’t wanna be in his skin if she finds out. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go through the old files and cross-reference the with other states, Feds and Foreign Affairs. I’ll get back to youz.”
“Thanks, mate.” Merv went back to his pint of Granny’s IPA.
Rogerson dropped the handset back onto its cradle. “Fuck, fuck, fucketty, fuck. Prepare for the shit storm, lads.”
I’m a fuckwit brought to you by Maccas
……………………..
Meanwhile, Foodge had returned to the apartment in Darlinghurst. He found absolutely nothing, mainly because the owner had slammed the door in his face. He went around all of the strip clubs but everyone refused to talk. Bear in mind he was widely regarded as a defector. He then tried check on their joint bank account but couldn’t find the Bank of NSW. Eventually he stumbled into Westpac where the teller couldn’t work out what to do with his Passbook. He eventually initiated an inquiry into a ‘no longer active account’, which could take weeks or months.
……………………
Meanwhile at a private member’s room in an exclusive ‘Gentleman’s Club.
“Boss, didja see that Foodge has started sniffing around the clubs?”
“Yep.”
“Howdja know?”
“Just received a call from a well known, or, should I say, well paid copper.”
“Oh, right, well, woddle we do?”
“About one tenth of fuck all.”
“Why, won’t Foodge be onto us?”
“Foodge is the least successful Pee Eye in Sydney, and an even worse barrister. In the entire history of the Pigs Arms he’s photographed an MP climbing out his boyfriend’s window, and got that dimwit Manne orff an exposure charge. Threat level zero.”
I’m a priest, trust me…except if I have something to say, which I don’t unless my legal team says so
You know, if they told me I was going to appear so much I would have charged more…
Foodge Escapes from Buntings
Written by Mark
Foodge was sitting in the foyer of the court house rolling a durry, well with tobacco and some other funny green stuff. O’Hoo was busy talking to some official over at the counter. Foodge was in deep thought mode, why am I here, why was I born, what is my first name and you know all those things that race through you mind in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.
“O’Hoo, hoo were you talking two” speaking phonetically so O’Hoo wouldn’t understand, asks Foodge as he deeply inhales on his durry.
“Clark, I think his name was, no Clark Cell, a standard primary cell producing 1.4328 volts at 15 degrees C which consists of a mercury cathode and a zinc amalgam anode both dipping into a saturated solution of zinc sulphate” says O’Hoo.
Oh fuck off thinks Foodge. Never ask a simpleton a question that you don’t know the answer too. “Anyway pass us the scotch”. Foodge is discombobulated now(thanks Gerard, my spell checker doesn’t know it still, after all this time).
Come here lad, have a whiskey…
“Where’s the press throng?” asks Foodge as he inhales deeply on his durry. Oh yes, South Sea Islands Scotch sure does taste good in the morning.
O’Hoo runs out of the foyer onto the front steps of the court house and spy’s a group of school kids passing by on an excursion or just running away from their teachers. O’Hoo approaches them and says “Look kids, I understand that this is a kid friendly web page but can you pretend to be from the media, you know asking questions, pointing microphones and taking pictures when my mate come out from the court?”
“Um, yeah, um, yeah, okay mate! Wot’s in it for us?” says a little smart arse in the front row.
“Sausage sizzle, with fried onions and tomato sauce, all round at Buntings, oh on white bread, nothing healthy” blurts O’Hoo relating to the inner psyche of the modern generation.
“Yep, wheeze in” says the smart arse.
Foodge stumbles out of the court to face the “media throng”.
“Mr Foodge, what have you got to say about the court case?” says the smart arse kid who is getting way too much media attention.
“Well” replies Foodge “ I can’t say anything while the case is in front of the court”
“Well that’s only literally, not metaphorically”. The smart arse kid is really stating to grate and you can fucking well spell that how you want to and I’m the author.
“No more comments from me except to say the chicken schnitzel on Monday night with mushroom gravy is to die for.”
Hmm, Tastes like chicken…
O’Hoo pulls up in the Zephyr. “You drive Foodge. We are being followed. I’ve read the script”
“But I’m pissed and stoned”
“Doesn’t matter we’re fictional and anyway Gordon will get us off any charges.”
Foodge accerlates the Zephyr down the boulevard. O’Hoo jumps into the back seat and smashes out the back window.
“Why did you do that for? Emmjay will be really pissed that we went over budget.”
“I’ll get a better shot this way. Keep speeding, we are being followed by the FBI, the CIA, ASIO and worst of all the CWA” cried O’Hoo as he lets fly a few salvo’s out of the recently renovated rear window.
Foodge dodges and swerves through the back streets of Inner Cyberia as O’Hoo fires indiscriminately out the back window, trying to take care to hit any one at any time.
The FBI and ASIO cars go down when the CIA call O’Hoo on a two way radio that he didn’t know he was carrying up until now.
“Wheeze hungry” says the CIA goon.
Stop, I’m from the CIA, no the CIB, no the CIC, no the CID…
“Take the next left and into the McJacks drive through” says O’Hoo thinking he should have added and extra T and said thought. So many questions so little time.
Everyone is going through the drive through, try saying that after a few drinks but the CWA ladies want a Fillet-O-Fish so wheeze is all held up. Wears the pleece when yous want them. Don’t you just love phonetics.
The race continues but O’Hoo is a bit too sharp for his opposition and quickly takes out the CIA car as they munch on their McJacks. The CWA are a different story. O’Hoo fires another round of high powered tracer bullets into their car from loaded magazines thanks to granny, an eternal pacifist. Don’t you love her. Peace man.
O’Hoo and Foodge drive into the car park at the Pigs Arms with the Zephyr looking in bad shape with bullet holes and smashed windows, however Foodge won’t budge until he has finished his Big McWhopper, fries and slushie. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” screams O’Hoo as he finishes his chicken burger and Coke drink.
Apparently it’s a restaurant
Foodge and O’Hoo run into the bar avoiding eye contact with Emmjay. Big M and Algernon cock there weapons and the three sisters, Yvonne, Barbara and Shoe just keep studying the form guide, totally disinterested in the shenanigans. The CWA drive straight through the front doors and get out of their car opening fire with their weapons. Big M, Algernon and O’Hoo return fire and bullets are flying everywhere.
Meanwhile back in the kitchen granny is really peeved. Emmjay walks through the fire fight into the kitchen and says to granny “Lets have a bake off so we can stop this madness.”
Granny walks into the bar and yells “Stop. Stop now.” Funnily enough everyone stops. “Lets have a scone bake off to sort this out.”
All the cooks head out to the kitchen and start cooking. Scones, cream and jam are served to everyone. Hmm, all taste great. Granny says “Well, what was this agro all about?”
