Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Free Range Office Solutions

30 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by in Gregor Stronach

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..... simulated office

By Gregor Stronach (when he was in short pants)

For decades, the human race has been witness to some of the most unimaginable horrors. The saddest part is that most of these horrors have been perpetrated by ourselves. Humans have a lot to answer for.

Amongst the worst crimes of all is the constant confinement of office workers in cubicles. They cower, cheek by jowl under artificial lights, in an environment specifically designed to stimulate productivity past any reasonable, natural level.

Previously, the answer to this outrage was thought to lie with activist groups – small cells of operatives who would meticulously plan and then carry out daring daytime raids to free office workers from the shackles of oppression. It was hard, tiring and often illegal, and many of the activists gave their lives to the cause, suffering terrifying fates at the hands of building security guards.

That’s why we here at Free Range Office Solutions™ have gone back to the drawing board, and we’ve found the very best solution to the problem. No more will accountants and administrative assistants be confined to cubicles. No more will editors and web developers find themselves penned for up to eight hours a day (sometimes even more) in tiny cells barely three metres square, with only a minimal space available to hang photos of loved ones or small plaques bearing banal witticisms to keep them sane.

Here at Free Range Office Solutions, we prefer to keep the workers happy – a happy worker is a productive worker. That’s why we let our worker’s roam free throughout the day – Free to explore, free to scratch through the soil, collecting the naturally occurring minerals they need to remain healthy.

We believe that consumers can, and will, taste the difference – We’ve found that productivity is actually increased when Free Range Workers are employed in American companies.

How it works

The idea behind Free Range Office Solutions is very simple, both in concept and implementation. We believe that human beings were meant to roam free throughout the day, feeling the earth beneath their bare feet.

It takes only a small investment for this solution to become a reality for you and your business. For just $499 per square metre, our expert technicians will come to your office, remove every stick of furniture they can find, and replace the carpet with a totally natural topsoil, harvested from the rich, loamy land of the Mississippi Delta.

We provide full training for managers, to assist with getting your new Free Range Workers used to their new surrounding. We run workshops on how to walk barefoot through the office, settling territorial disputes between alpha males and – of course – keeping your Free Range Workers well-fed and happy.

The results you’ll attain will astonish you. That’s our guarantee to you. But don’t take our word for it. Here are some testimonials from some of our high profile clients.

“I first heard of Free Range Workers back in the 1970s. My company was pretty small back then, and we had resigned ourselves to using the cubicle system of worker control because we had no other options. But once we put the Free Range Worker ideal into place, this company expanded very, very rapidly.” B. Gates, Silicon Valley.

“We’ve found that some of our workers don’t even want to leave at the end of the day – we have to round them up using dogs, or shoo them out the door with a broom at five o’clock. Thank you Free Range Office Solutions – without you, our workplace would still look like it was made out of Lego.” J. Rockerfeller, New York.

For your obligation-free pamphlet, simply write to us or call our toll-free number. Happy, plump and productive workers are just a phone call away.

*Disclaimer – Free Range Office Solutions™ is a wholly owned subsidiary of Jon Long’s Second Hand Office Furniture, Pty Ltd.

Gregor Stronach liked them so much, he bought the company.

First published at http://www.rumandmonkey.com.au

In the Kitchen with Vivienne – 3 Special Occasions

30 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by in The Dining Room, Vivienne

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By Vivienne

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)

...... not actual size 🙂

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.

Next:

  • finely chop about 4 oz of fresh root ginger
  • peel 12 cloves of garlic
  • all the yellow rind of one lemon (just in strips)
  • juice the lemon
  • 2 teaspoon of ground cummin
  • 2 teaspoons of ground cardamom
  • 6 whole cloves
  • 2 teaspoons turmeric
  • 1 teaspoon of ground chilli (more if you like)
  • 3 teaspoon of salt

Blend all of the above and then spread it over the lamb.

Leave aside while you….

Mix a cup of ground almonds, two tablespoons of soft brown sugar and a cup and a quarter of  plain greek style yoghurt.  This should be enough to cover the leg of lamb.  Don’t worry about the bit at the bottom – you can’t turn it over at this stage.   If this mixture doesn’t look enough to coat the lamb just add some more ground almond and yoghurt.

Next:

Cover the lamb and put in fridge for two days.

On the day you want to eat this dish, take out of fridge one hour before starting to cook (bring to room temperature).  Sprinkle two more teaspoons of brown sugar over the lamb.

Preheat oven to 220c or 425F.   Place uncovered dish in oven and roast for 20 minutes then reduce temperature to 180 or 350 and roast one more hour.  Then reduce temperature to about 150, and COVER the pan (with foil) and leave slowly roasting for another 4 hours.

Then….

Transfer lamb to serving plate, cover and leave in oven while you….

Spoon off any visible fat from roasting pan juices and then add saffron powder – half a teaspoon.  Stir all up on top of stove and let it boil to reduce a little.  You should be able to figure out the consistency.

My recipe says to spoon sauce over the dish but I think it is better to pass around the jug.

You really can’t do a regular carving job, just get stuck into it as it falls apart easily.

—ooo—

DHANSAK

Dhansak Lentils

A Parsee chicken with lentils and vegetables dish (my version)

Ingredients:

  • 1 cup of lentils (made up of one or four different lentils, whatever you like)
  • 2-3 cups water
  • Salt – 2 tsp
  • Ghee – about 2 tbs
  • Fresh root ginger – 1 inch piece finely chopped
  • Garlic – 1  finely chopped
  • One good size chook, cut up into 8 pieces
  • Fresh mint – 1 tablespoon, finely chopped
  • 1 eggplant – cubed
  • Pumpkin – a cup and a bit peeled and cubed
  • Silverbeet – a cup, chopped up (no stalk bits though)
  • Onion – 1 large, sliced
  • Tomatoes – one can of chopped

For the masala:

  • Ghee – 1 or 2 tablespoons
  • Onion – 1 medium, sliced
  • Fresh root ginger – 1 inch piece finely chopped
  • Chilli powder – 1 teaspoon
  • Garlic – 3 cloves finely chopped
  • Cinnamon – ground, half teaspoon
  • Cardamom – ground, half teaspoon
  • Cloves – 3 ground up (optional as far as I am concerned)
  • Turmeric – 2 teaspoons
  • Coriander  – ground – 3 teaspoons

Cooking:

Soak lentils for 30 minutes, drain and then into large saucepan (preferably cast iron),  add water and salt, bring to boil and then simmer for 30 – 40 minutes (until soft obviously).  In another large pot melt ghee and first lot of ginger and garlic and the chicken pieces and lightly brown and then add to lentils.  In same pan as used for chicken pieces, add more ghee, second lot of garlic, ginger, onion and spices and sauté until onion clear but not brown.   Put all this and the other vegetables (pumpkin, eggplant, toms etc) into pan with the chicken.   Simmer away until chicken all cooked and everything smells great and vegetables sort of disintegrated.  Check taste for salt etc.

Note:  When preparing garlic, ginger and onion just do twice the amount first mentioned and halve it for the process.  If you have a good size pot and want to do two chickens you will not need to double all the other ingredients.  2 teaspoons of salt will be about right for 1 or two chooks, ghee will be plenty,  I’d increase vegetables and lentils by 50%, one can of tomatoes should do, but increase spices by 100%  (though the chilli, I leave up to your discretion).

Accompany this dish with Naan bread.  If you can’t make it yourself the brands in the supermarket are passable (just warm up in the micro-wave).

—ooo—

POTATO SAMBAL

This goes well with any curry, eat it warm or at room temperature.  Taste testers beware – this sambal is deceptively delicious and addictive.

In a tablespoon of ghee (you must use ghee, never oil) lightly cook the following:

  • 1 finely minced onion
  • 1 clove garlic
  • 1 non hot green chilli or pepper
  • half teaspoon of ground ginger
  • “         “             cummin
  • 1 teaspoon ground turmeric
  • quarter tsp hot chilli

Having already cooked 5 potatoes and roughly mashed,  add the above mixture plus salt to taste.  Then stir in some thick coconut milk, a little bit at a time.  Consistency should still be firm.

Other usual side dishes recommended (apart from your favourite chutney or pickle):

  • Cucumber/yogurt
  • Sliced tomato and onions dressed in lemon juice, salt/pepper
  • Naan and or pappadums
  • If Naan not possible, a basmati rice dish of course

A note from Vivienne

This is the third and last instalment of recipes from me for the time being.  I don’t want to wear out my welcome.  Some of the other ideas I have are more suited to the winter months so I do intend to do another series.  In the meantime if any of you lovely people have a foodie question please feel free to ask and I’ll endeavour to assist in whatever way I can.

Foodge 17 – Foodge and Uncle Big

25 Saturday Sep 2010

Posted by in Big M, Emmjay, Foodge Private Dick

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The Newcastle Flyer leaving Stanmore Station

By Big M

I’ve written this short note by way of an apology to the patrons of the Window Dresser’s Arms, Pig and Whistle. The stories about Foodge, are simple transcripts from Foodge’s ‘dictations’. It’s probably best to try to explain just how our relationship came about.

Mrs M had offered to provide respite care for kids with disabilities. After much paperwork, and vetting by the Federal Police, we were rewarded with a message stating that we were to look after a young lad named ‘Foodge’, to give his Uncle Emmjay and Aunty FM a break. He was to be sent to Newcastle on the train. It was an exciting day as we waited on the platform of the Newcastle station, me looking only slightly more foolish than usual with a large A3 piece of cardboard with ‘Welcome Foodge’ scrawled across its front. We were eagerly examining the faces of the kiddies as they poured from the carriage doors when an enormous fellow in a brown suit, white shirt, RSL club tie and battered Fedora parked his ‘steamer’ next to me and stretched out his hand. “Big M, I presume.”

“Oh, hi.” I tried to peer around the shoulders of the gentleman standing in front of me. “Where’s the kid, I mean, Foodge?”

“I’m Foodge, there is no kid.” He pulled a box of ‘Dairy Milks’ out from behind his back, handing them to Mrs M. “Now, you must have a conveyance of some sort – A Ford Zephyr perhaps.” He started dragging his luggage along the platform towards the exit.

I quickly telephoned the contact number for Foodge’s foster parent. Emmjay answered, laughing at the misunderstanding. “Don’t worry Big M, he’s a sweet guy, you’ll love him!”

That was a few months ago. Foodge has been back to see his uncle and aunt, but seems happy in Newcastle for the moment. What can I say about him? He’s a big bloke, of indeterminate age, fit, reasonably muscular, although we never see him do any exercise. He’s polite, well spoken, likes to contribute to the household. He’s sober, never drinking more than a ‘half pint’ at the pub. He does have a Bachelor of Laws but has never practiced. He also has a battered Commercial and Private Enquiry Agent’s Licence, which has expired. Foodge’s name does not appear on the electoral roll. He’s never had a car licence, and has never owned a car. He has a bank account and credit cards, and is never short of funds.

I believe that Foodge has modelled himself on the famous pulp fiction writer Raymond Chandler’s character, ‘Philip Marlowe”, with his old-fashioned suits, narrow ties and Fedora. He refuses to own a pair of jeans, and won’t be seen wearing shorts outside the yard.  He does take it a bit far, at times, calling barmaids ‘doll-face’, or ‘toots’.  He has a penchant for out-dated uniforms. He joined the local bowling club, which he enjoys tremendously, going for a ‘roll-up’ in full bowling regalia. Emmjay tells me that he had no end of trouble trying to keep him from joining the Scouts.

Foodge makes the most outlandish claims, such as, “I’m thinking of having the Zephyr rebored”, “I invented the automatic garage door”, or, “my research proves that satellite navigation causes brain cancer”, and “the prime minister is not a real red-head,” or, “Mr Cole is making a film about my life.” Yet, he seems to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of astronomy and physics. He’s had a thesis on Aboriginal archeo-astronomy published, although is quite self-deprecating about this achievement (I don’t think it fits in with the whole 1940’s shamus persona).  He uses his own laptop computer, at home, yet struggles with the mobile phone, preferring to make a ‘trunk call’ from the home phone.

As for personal relationships he’s provided no information about his parents or extended family. He seems to have adopted Emmjay and FM, treating them as his own. He claims that a good friend of ours is his girlfriend. When we point out that she is gay, he replies. “Yes, she is, rather.”

Foodge insists on dictating these stories about his life as a ‘shamus’. Emmjay had originally started to do this on the advice of a psychologist as a way of allowing Foodge to express himself. I have tried to continue this, but it can be quite frustrating at times. “No, write it all down, no, not like that, do it the way Uncle Emmjay does it.” These stories are often extreme, revolving around his superior detecting skills, drinking ability, and sexual prowess. He seems to build up his own sense of self worth by casting others in lesser roles, for example, Emmjay is often portrayed as the wardrobe manager, O’Hoo is the fumbling copper who only gets results through Foodge’s efforts, and so on.

Mrs M and I don’t know how long Foodge will stay. We are determined to make the most of it, but will let him go back to Emmjay’s whenever. With your kind permission, I will continue to write down his stories and pin them up on the pub’s notice board, you know, in the Ladies Lounge behind that bench where the Bowling Ladies serve the tea. I hope you enjoy them and don’t find them too outré!

Foodge 16 – A Dry Argument

21 Tuesday Sep 2010

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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Make Mine Expresso

By Big M

The Zephyr ground to a halt across the road from the Pigs Arms. Foodge had to park across the road, as a beer truck proudly displaying the sign ‘Wretches Pilsener’, was disgorging it’s load of kegs straight down through the steel doors in the footpath. Granny was supervising, hopping up onto the truck, then diving down into the cellar to man (or woman) handle the heavy aluminium kegs into some sense of order.  She was leaping, chimpanzee-like back onto the flat bed of the truck when she spied him. “Up early, son?”

“Home late, stake-out.” Foodge nodded to the aging Pentax, SLR in his hand. Stake out was a slight expansion of the truth, it was more like, trying to get the dirt on a stray husband at the Leichardt Ridges Hotel. The pristine Zephyr was hardly an inconspicuous observation post. “Grill on?”

“I’ll be five minutes, if this goat can pull his finger out. Already dropped one keg, for which I refuse to pay!” Granny glared at the driver.

Foodge ambled through the main doors, to find himself inside, what could only be described as a sauna. “Hello, anyone home?”

“In the back bar.” Roared the voice of Merv. “Tryin’ to make one of them ‘Cups-of-Chino!”

Granny bustled past Foodge, nearly knocking him off his feet. “I told you to leave the bloody thing until we’d read the instructions.” Shrieked Granny, as she flung the doors and windows open, to vent the steam, then tore through to disconnect the new coffee machine before any more aging wallpaper was threatened by the steam.

Merv looked helpless. “Tryin’ to go more upmarket.” He shrugged.

Foodge smiled the insipid, simpering smile of the night worker. “Breakfast?” He settled onto a stool as far from the coffee machine as possible, then flicked open ‘Barrister’s Weekly’, vigorously attacking into the Word-finder.  Merv pushed a glass canoe of Wretches Pilsener across the bar. Foodge knew by the absence of scent (smell would be a better word) and paleness that it wasn’t Trotter’s Best. “What’s this?”

“Best and Bitter are off.” Explained Merv. “Yeast died. Probably for the best.”

“For the best, for the bloody best?” Foodge was standing. “Best beer in the bloody world, and it’s extinction’s for the best!”

“Keep your voice down mate, Janet’s bin poorly.”

“Sorry.” Foodge had forgotten Janet’s delicate state, what with being in the pudding club, and grieving now that ‘Master Cook’ was finished. He leaned toward Merv, his tie draping itself through runny egg yolk and beans. “This is a disaster.” He whispered. “I can’t drink any other beer.”

“There’ll be no more PA beers until we can get new yeast, then there’ll be a trial period.” Granny had her back to them, trying to vent the excess pressure in the ‘Cup-of-Chino’ machine into a safe place, such as the sink. There was a great thump, followed by a second thump, which, inturn, was followed by the sound of the doors opening, which was accompanied by a  tuneless whistle, then, through the mist emerged the most distorted face Foodge had ever seen.

“Gidday, mates. Nice sauna” O’Hoo enthusiastically shook everyone’s hand, wrinkling his nose. “Breakfast?” Granny dashed off to the cellar for more beans and eggs. “Wizeyoo up so early?”

“Surveillance” Foodge bent his head forward and pushed his battered fedora back.

“Me, too.” O’Hoo grinned. “Big drug bust. Some bad bastards have been illegally making paracetamol, selling ‘em to old people, cheap. Very dangerous. By the way, why doesn’t it smell in here, I mean, aside from us fixing the dunnies?” This wasn’t entirely true, as O’Hoo himself carried a distinctive odour, but, like a sewage worker was completely inured to it.

“Tannery shut down, makin’ leather in Chine.” Merv shook his head, as sad at the loss of local jobs as he was for the loss of local drinkers.

“Bad news, O’Hoo.” Foodge struggled to keep a tear from rolling down his cheek. “Bitter ‘n’ Best are off!”

“No, tell me it isn’t true.” O’Hoo had Merv by the lapels, which was a pretty dangerous thing to do, what with his size and disposition. Merv expertly removed O’Hoo’s hands.

“Settle down, son, no-one’s died, it’s only beer” Merv stated, fairly unconvincingly. He started absent-mindedly fiddling with the ‘Best’ tap, looking about to make sure that Granny was out of earshot. “Look, yuz two are the cornerstone of this place, so I’ll level with yuz. It’s not so much the yeast, it’s Granny.  I know, she’s still sprightly, in and out, up and down, and she’s been happy as a dolphin since yuz two fixed the Gents, which, by the way, we’re all bloody grateful, but, ‘er arts not in brewin’.  I’m buggered, dunno what to do with ‘er.”

“But she won that award, for Granny’s Boutique Bitter, you remember, with the yeast from the underpants?” O’Hoo, avered. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, I dunno. Thought she waz tired so offered her an all expenses paid ‘olidie to me cousin’s place in Woy Woy, but, no, wouldn’t go. Truth is she ‘ad a cuppla dud batches of  Best, then one of Bitter, then she said she’d never brew again. I think she’s lost it, she’s already made space in the cellar for Vee Bee an’ Toolies Old!”

The three screwed up their faces at the thought. Foodge thoughtfully let an eructation escape his lips, which took a bit of pressure off the ulcer. “Well lads, we all need to take it gently, you know, ‘touchy, touchy, feely, monkey’, as they say.” His head was bowed forward with his right index finger tapping the side of his nose. “My current case is a dead end, your’s is closed, O’Hoo?” O’Hoo nodded. “We both need sleep. Shall we reconvene at, say, seventeen hundred o’clock?

“You mean seventeen hours?” O’Hoo was jiggy with military time.

“No, what about five, then?

“Yep, we’ll make it five!”

The two men rose, collected their equipment, and left, leaving their glass canoes untouched. It was a sad day for Merv, his shoulders slumped as he tossed the amber fluid down the sink.

In the Kitchen with Vivienne – Seafood – Part 2

18 Saturday Sep 2010

Posted by in The Dining Room, Vivienne

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CALAMARI rings with Tahini Sauce

First make this sauce:

Buy Mayver’s tahini (hulled stone ground sesame seeds) – comes in a jar and is cholesterol free.

In a small mortar, smash together 1 or 2 cloves of garlic with half a teaspoon of salt.

Use another small bowl and add about a third of a cup of the above tahini, mix in the garlic/salt and add a squeeze of lemon juice.  Mix together and gradually add cold water – it will at first turn thick but keep mixing and adding water until it becomes creamier and a lighter colour.  Taste test.  Most recipes suggest a lot more lemon but I think it is better with just a small amount.

The Squid bit

..... only if you have a large pan and quite a few friends

Buy your squid – if you can get a whole one and know how to clean and prepare it please do so.  Otherwise the frozen squid tubes are quite okay.  Once you have thawed the frozen ones (one per person), check that the inside is free of any gunk and then do your best to mop up excess moisture.   Slice into rings about ¾ of a centimetre thick.  Place about three tablespoons of plain wholemeal flour into a plastic bag and add calamari rings, shake to cover with flour.    Heat peanut oil in deep saucepan and cook in batches for a minute or two.  (same method as with the scallops)

Serve with sauce as a dip.

—ooo—

MUSSELS with a white wine/garlic/tomato sauce

Buy your mussels on the day you want to eat them if you can, otherwise keep in the fridge for no more than 24hrs.  Buy them loose by the kilo or in the prepacked  kilo bags from Tasmania (i.e. this recipe is not for those NZ mussels as only Australian ones will do) and do not buy those in a sealed tray as I don’t trust that method.

Discard any mussels which are open and won’t close with a few taps as well as those which are broken.  Pull out the beards as best you can.  Once cooked do not discard unopened mussels (there is nothing wrong with them) but see if you can pry them open or put under the grill and see if that works.  If they just will not open you will have to discard them unfortunately.

First, prepare the sauce – this should be sufficient for 2 kilos of mussels.

Hard boil one egg.

Heat a little olive oil in a large frying pan, add one finely chopped onion, at least 3 cloves of garlic (crushed) and sauté until soft (do not brown), add a tin of chopped or crushed tomatoes and at least a cup of white wine (for this I recommend a white lambrusco – cask style), add salt and pepper to taste.   Mix well and leave to bloop bloop for 15 minutes, taste test.  You will probably need to add more wine and then leave to slowly bloop for as long as it takes to start reducing in volume when the flavour will become more intense and yummy.  Add a little water to bring back the volume.  Finally, add the chopped up boiled egg.

In a big pot cook your mussels in just a little water with the lid on.  Cooking is quick so don’t leave the kitchen.  You will probably only manage half to one kilo at a time, so you will have to time manage this yourself.  One kilo is about right for two people but this depends on how fond you are of mussels.

Serve mussels with the sauce dolloped over them or with the sauce in a small bowl in the centre.  Sour dough bread goes well with this and is useful for mopping up the sauce.

MUSSELS the really easy way

Just prepare and cook them and place in big bowl on table, pluck the mussels out, dip in vinegar and eat.   Don’t forget the appropriate beer.  This is ideal after a morning of hard work in the garden in the springtime.

—ooo—

TEMPURA FLATHEAD

A plate of Platycephalus

The batter for this can be used for any tempura dishes, not just flathead.  I think flathead fillets are the finest of fish and highly recommend that you use them. The size and shape of flathead is perfect for this style of cooking.  You will need about 250g per person and each fillet should be cut into about three pieces.

The batter:  mix together half a cup of plain flour, half a cup of cornflour, 1 ½ teaspoons of baking powder and salt to taste.  Break one egg into a cup and lightly beat and fill with water to the one cup measurement.   Add this to the flours and only lightly beat till roughly blended.   (For gluten free, you can use all cornflour but do make sure you buy real cornflour because some cornflour is made out of flour, believe it or not.)

Heat peanut oil in deep saucepan, dip each piece of flathead in the tempura batter and cook much the same as for the scallops etc – it does not take long as once turning light gold the fish is cooked.

You might like to have chips with this – I recommend you do yourself a favour and buy the frozen straight or crinkle cut ones and pop in the oven.

Serve fish with lemon wedges and/or a quick dip made of 50/50 soy sauce and rice wine.

Geoffrey the Inept 7 – General Colon Oscopy

16 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by in Big M

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Insert Tab B into Slot A

By Big M

The following morning Geoffrey and Morticia were back in the clinic. Morticia was sheepish after yesterday, what with Geoffrey having to pay a sixty dollar cleaning fee to the taxi driver, plus the cost of dry cleaning his suit, plus the fact that he would probably never get the smell of vomit out of his shoes. Geoffrey was more disappointed, than anything. His virginity was still very much intact, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as he was running the General Medicine Clinics, which really only involved ushering patients to and from clinic rooms, performing the occasional blood pressure or urinalysis, and basically trying to keep people calm, in spite of the clinics running two hours behind their advertised schedule. He was wandering past the Colonoscopy Room when he heard the dulcet tones of his inamorata. “Bit of help in here?”

Geoffrey rushed into the room. “Yes, my love.” He looked around to see Morticia hand ventilating a patient, who was clearly not breathing.

“Don’t just stand there, give him some Naloxone!”

“Yes, my love. Where will I find that my love?”

“In the bloody Emergency Trolley, filed under ‘N’” Morticia continued with the ventilation.

“Don’t you want me to jump on his chest?” Geoffrey thought that this sounded like the right thing to do.

“Just give some bloody Naloxone!” Roared Doctor Baxter, the Gastroenterologist, from the other end of the patient.

Geoffrey managed to find the drug and administer it correctly, which was quite a feat, for Geoffrey, then got ready to perform cardiac compressions. “What the hell are you doing, son?” Yelled Uva Kent, from the doorway. The patient groaned, as the medication had started to work. Morticia stopped her resuscitative efforts and the colonoscope was extracted from the gentleman’s nether regions.

“Ah, Sister Kent, this young lady has done a terrific job with this chap who became narcotised during a ‘scope, unfortunately, her male colleague was much less effective.” Doctor Baxter and Morticia turned the patient onto his side.

“Mister Riley, I’ll be seeing you in my office at three, and Doctor Baxter, you need to review your medication doses. I assume your keeping the patient here, for observation? Morticia will do that, and I will send an RN from the medical ward to help.” Uva turned on her heal to find herself face to face with Doctor James. “Ah, Doctor James, just been having a little chat with your lad, seems he needs some remedial education on resuscitation!”

“Well, er, ahh, He’s not, my lad, as I’ve pointed out to you before.” James was red in the face. “He may benefit from some extra education, so we’ll send him to the College of Nursing, Advanced Resuscitation Course, which, by the way, is run by a very good friend. We can give Mister Riley some financial support from the Nurses Scholarship Fund.” James turned and marched away before there could be any discussion. He had important business, letters to dictate, and a presentation on his PENIS to practice. He could end up practicing with his PENIS for the rest of the day.

Uva took one last look around the room, pausing to scowl at Geoffrey, then rushed away to more important matters, a smoke and a chat with Tess, which is where she was originally headed.

Sister Kent was surprised to find Tess was already sitting out on a low grassy hill overlooking the helicopter pad. A chopper had landed with the rotors still slowly turning. The distinct smell of burnt kerosene wafted over them from above, whilst the earthy scent of freshly mown grass rose from under their feet. A gaggle of wardsmen waited, wearing oversized earmuffs and sunglasses, which made them look like aliens. Uva pulled a Camel from her top pocket, thrusting it into the corner of her mouth, and then started the ritual of patting every pocket in order to locate a lighter. She’d just done a second circuit of pockets when Tess proffered an old, gold plated, antique Hurricane lighter. “I know, I don’t smoke anymore, but it was Dad’s.” Uva accepted the light. Drawing the smoke deep into her chest, savouring it for as long as her emphysematous lungs could cope, she exhaled forcefully through her nose. The engines of the chopper had finally powered down, and the wardsmen had started to slide the patient onto a hospital trolley.

“It never ceases to amaze me, the way there’s a bloody traffic jamb as drivers stop to gawk at the chopper.” Tess nodded at the line of cars blocking the egress to the car park. “What’s on yer mind, pet?”

Uva recounted the incident in the clinic, punctuating every sentence with plenty of gesticulations, all the while the Camel stayed perched in the corner of her mouth. “You know what’ll happen, Riley will turn into another James!”

Tess guffawed and snorted like a pig. “Then we’ll have two PENISs to contend with!” She laughed whilst her considerable bosom heaved and shook, her problem with incontinence clearly had improved. “Perhaps Geoffrey will make a VULVA?”  They both sat and tittered away, only pausing to look at one of the retrieval nurses who’d removed his helmet to reveal that it was Rick, one of the young ICU nurses, who waved, then quickly returned to his attention to his patient. “Pity Geoffrey’s not like young Rick.”

“Pity they’re not all like young Rick, you old tart.” Uva ground the butt of her cigarette into the grass, absent-mindedly chewing at a yellow stained thumbnail. Seeing fine young lads like Rick made her wonder what her own lad was doing with his life, of course, dealing with Geoffrey made her not want to know!

Meanwhile, in the Executive Suite, Dr James was dictating letters to Acacia, who was struggling to keep up, on account of her new acrylic nails being far too long to handle any sort of writing implement. James was frustrated, he was a very important man, and couldn’t be constrained by this level of inefficiency. “Acacia, if you can’t do your job, then I’ll need to find someone who can!” He blurted, after the third attempted at a simple memo.

“So, you’re going to discriminate against me because I’m beautiful?” Acacia dropped her pencil for the fourth time, struggling to pick it up with her long nails was like using chopsticks.

“No.” Replied James, absent-mindedly looking at the Power Point Presentation of his PENIS.

“You don’t think I’m beautiful!” Acacia started to cry, abandoning the pencil, now trying to dry her eyes, thereby endangering her vision. James came round from behind his desk, with some more tissues.

“I didn’t say you weren’t beautiful, I said I wasn’t trying to discriminate.” James bent forward and put his arm around her shoulders.

Acacia pushed her face into James’ chest. “You..said..I..wasn’t beauti…ful.” Her whole body shook as she cried, yet her fingers stayed splayed out to protect the nails. The cheap fabric of his shirt was rendered translucent by the tears.

“You’re very beautiful, Acacia.” James soothed. “Now, enough of this, let’s get back to work.” Acacia peaked out from under James arm, caught their reflection in the mirror and smiled at herself.

In the Kitchen with Vivienne – Seafood – Part 1

15 Wednesday Sep 2010

Posted by in The Dining Room, Vivienne

≈ 23 Comments

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Recipes by  Vivienne

OYSTERS  – indulge yourself every now and then

Right now oysters are in fine form as they are best during the colder months.  Oysters are low fat, low cholesterol and full of vitamins and minerals.  Treat yourself to a dozen every week or so but have them at home, not eating out!

SCALLOPS

Also in season now and the Aussie ones are well worth spending $28 for a kilo.  Always trim the little tiny muscle bit off and sit on absorbant paper to soak up moisture.  They can be eaten many ways and require very little cooking time.   One of my favourites is crumbed scallops.

Place two or so tablespoons of plain or wholemeal flour in a plastic bag.  Add a little salt and pepper and a pinch of cayenne pepper.  Shake to coat.  Beat an egg or two very well and drench.  Then coat in regular breadcrumbs.  For gluten free you can buy corn crumbs which are just fine.   Heat peanut oil in a deep saucepan (safer if there is any spitting which is usually completely unforeseen).  Pop in about 8 or 10 at a time, turn once – they should look light to medium golden – only takes a minute.   Serve with tartare sauce and your favourite salad.   A kilo will feed four.  (While you are cooking the 2nd, 3rd batches etc keep the cooked ones in your warming tray or pre-heated low oven.)

BURMESE STYLE PRAWN CURRY

From Charmaine Solomon’s book 1972  (slightly altered by me though as I think blachan smells bloody awful).

To serve two:

  • 16 large raw (Australian) prawns  – sauce will do up to 20 prawns if you want more.
  • 1 tbspn  ghee
  • 1 medium to large onion – finely chopped
  • 3 cloves of garlic – very finely chopped
  • 1 inch piece of fresh giner – very finely chopped
  • 1 teaspoon ground tumeric
  • 1 teaspoon ground chilli
  • 1 teaspoon paprika
  • 1 teaspoon ground coriander
  • 2 tomatoes – chopped
  • 1 and half teaspoons salt
  • Water

Heat ghee in good size saucepan.  Add onion, garlic and ginger and gently cook till just starting to turn pale gold.   Add spices and tomatoes and salt and stir well.  Cook on low heat, add about half a cup of water.  Allow the sauce to bloop bloop for at least half an hour.  When you first taste it will seem rather hot but it mellows as it bloops (put lid on).  You can do this earlier and turn off till you want dinner.  (You might want to add a bit more water later – you should be able to judge this.)

Prepare prawns by peeling and deveining and slit the back so the prawns will curl when cooked.

Gently reheat sauce and add the add the prawns to it.  Cook very very slowly for about half an hour. During this time cook basmati rice.  The prawns will have curled and taken on a lot of the colour and flavour of the sauce.

Serve with rice in a circle on plate and add prawns and sauce to centre.    Eat.

For serving with gluten free pasta instead of rice?  Well I think it will work okay.

PORK & PRAWN WONTONS

Mince up pork and raw prawn meat, mix with finely chopped onion, 4 chopped water chestnuts, 3 chopped spring onions and some cornflour, salt, pepper, tiny dash of sesame oil and a dash of soy.   Quantities depend on how many people you are feeding, but a ratio for 2 people would be about 200 grams of pork and 6 large raw prawns.

Mix till more like a paste.

Place a walnut size amount on each wonton wrapper and fold appropriately (triangle or parcel)..

Cook in boiling water for a few minutes, remove and serve in flavoursome homemade chicken broth or have solo with perhaps a dipping sauce.  Top the broth with shredded skinny egg omelette, chopped garlic chives or blanched snow peas.

ADVICE for seafood lovers

If the above seems a bit too daunting …… just go out and buy some oysters and cooked prawns and get stuck into them.

All dishes should be served with a cold Trotters ale or a chilled bottle of white wine of your choice.

Vivienne Says Hello

13 Monday Sep 2010

Posted by in Vivienne

≈ 55 Comments

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Vivienne - last century - while on holiday in London. I'm the one with the great tits

By Vivienne

My motto in life:

I’ll come to that bridge when I’ve crossed it.

Two of my famous sayings are:

  • You could have knocked me over with a boulder.
  • Don’t make me the prawn in your sandwich.

I have a husband and two fabulous daughters and one little dog (Lola).

This is Lola not long after she turned up at our place.  She had been dumped, was on heat, hungry and had no microchip.  She is now fully grown though not much bigger, just on four kilos.  We have always loved dogs and the last one passed on the year before so there was a vacancy.

Our driveway.  The trees were planted in 1981 as little babies.  They look a bit light on in the foliage department as this photo was taken a couple of years ago.  With the wonderful rain we have had this year they are now looking much healthier.

I plan on writing some food articles for those interested in seafood, curries, old fashioned cooking and reasons you should indulge yourself every now and then.

PS:  merit certificates will be awarded to the wittiest remark as to who has the best tits in the photo.

Cyrus by Theseustoo

12 Sunday Sep 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 17 Comments

Chapter 19, Part 2:

Cyrus receives Tomyris' herald...

Cyrus had quickly inspected the territory of the Getae and then pushed on towards the Araxes, where he had made camp and settled down to wait for Tomyris’ response to his proposal. He did not have to wait long; indeed, he was surprised by how soon the baggage train returned to him. He had not been expecting to hear from this particular herald again for several weeks at least, while the herald, in his role as matchmaker, paid court to the Massagetae’s monarch for him. Yet here he was already, Cyrus thought with surprise as he watched the herald dismounting from the lead wagon of his baggage train. The herald then immediately strode through the camp to find Cyrus as usual, in conference with his officers around the campfire in front of his pavilion…

“Well now! What’s this?” Cyrus demanded as he saw the herald approach, “Why have you returned from your mission so soon? Is Tomyris so eager to accept my proposal?”

“I’m afraid not, your majesty.” The messenger replied in sorrowful tones, “Tomyris said that she is aware that it is her kingdom, and not herself, that you want. She forbade us to approach and told us to return with your gifts.”

“Unfortunate;” Cyrus said, with genuine remorse, “I had hoped that with her aid we could gain useful allies among the other Scythian tribes. But it seems as if the unity I seek can only be won by force.” He turned to his generals, “Pactyas! Have carpenters build towers on the boats so our archers may give cover to our men as they build a bridge across this river; we shall make Tomyris regret her coldness towards me! A king is not to be spurned so easily!”

Although he had said nothing of it earlier, there was one other reason he had wanted to be near the river Araxes, which formed the border of the Massagetae territory: should Tomyris fail to accept his offer of marriage and alliance, he would be in a good position to seize control of the Scythians’ territory with his armies. His search for a queen could wait awhile; and who knows, he thought optimistically, perhaps Tomyris may change her mind eventually. Once conquered, he knew; for he had seen it happen; even dire enemies sometimes turned into the best of friends in spite of themselves. His friendship with Croesus bore witness to this truth; and Cyrus hoped that this might also turn out to be the case with Tomyris, as even this would make his rule over the Massagetae easier. Cyrus knew that, in the eyes of her people, it would give his sovereignty much more legitimacy if he were to marry their queen, even if he did so after he had conquered her; and that would not only make them much easier to govern; but would gain him allies, rather than enemies, among the other Scythian tribes. Otherwise he knew he would have to kill her; and any offspring she may have.

*** ***** ***

Soon after the return of Cyrus’ matchmaker another herald arrived, this time bearing the banner of Tomyris, Queen of the Massagetae. The guards realized instantly that Cyrus would most certainly wish to speak with this new emissary, and let him pass immediately; one of the pair politely escorted him through the labyrinthine chaos of their camp and into the presence of the Persian king; then waited to escort him back out again.

“Well then herald,” Cyrus said, recognizing the colours of Queen Tomyris on the standard the herald bore, “has your queen seen the folly of refusing my proposal and changed her mind? Does she now see the wisdom of accepting the alliance I offered her?”

“No, great Lord,” the herald replied, “but she bids me to give you these words: ‘King of the Medes, cease to press this enterprise, for you cannot know if what you are doing will be of real advantage to you. Be content to rule your own kingdom in peace, and allow us to reign over the countries that are ours to govern. However, as I know you will not choose to listen to this counsel, since there is nothing you desire less than peace and quiet, come on then, if you are so eager to meet the Massagetae in arms, leave your useless toil of bridge-building; we shall retire three days’ march from the river bank so you may come across with your soldiers; or, if you prefer to give us battle on your side of the river, retire yourself an equal distance.’”

“A spirited message, herald!” Cyrus replied, showing no indication of having taken offence, “Your queen has many admirable qualities. It is truly a pity she has chosen to resist us when she could have ruled the world by my side. You may go now; I will discuss Tomyris’ offer with my chieftains and decide upon which side of the river we shall give her battle. Presently I shall send a herald with our answer.”

“Very well, great Lord; farewell.” The herald nodded a curt bow to Cyrus from the saddle of his horse and then deftly turned his animal around and followed the guard back out of the camp.

“Well then,” Cyrus said, addressing his officers when the herald had left, “you all heard Tomyris’ response to my proposal… What say you? Shall we give them battle on their side of the river… or on ours?” His officers were quiet for some moments as each man present considered the situation; eventually it was Hystaspes who finally looked up and said, “Sire, it seems to me that it is better to fight them on this side of the river, where we are at least familiar with the terrain… We know nothing at all of the terrain on the other side of the river…”

This was a good point, thought Cyrus; this was the first time any Persian or Mede had conquered territory as far east as the land of the Getae. Even on this side of the river their familiarity with the terrain was only recently acquired and still incomplete. No-one liked the thought of fighting an unknown enemy on their own ground with no advance knowledge of the terrain. What Hystaspes had said made a great deal of sense. As Cyrus was considering his words, Pactyas spoke up in support of the general, “Hystaspes is right, your majesty! We know nothing at all about the other side of this river. Let us fight here, on ground we know!” At this there were shouts of “Hear, hear!”, “Aye!”, and “Fight them here!” from all of the officers present. When Cyrus saw that all of his officers were unanimously agreed, he said, “Very well! Since we are all agreed, we shall retire three days distance and allow the Massagetae to cross! Herald!”

A messenger quickly stepped forward and, with a smart bow, instantly prepared his mind to memorise any message with which his king might honour him. But just as Cyrus was about to give him his instructions, a voice interrupted him. It was Croesus; as a slave, he had held his tongue while the officers considered the king’s question and until they had said their piece. Now he stepped boldly forward however and with a deep bow of apology to the officers for his interruption, addressed Cyrus, “My king! I promised you long ago that, as god has given me into your hands, I would protect your house from danger to the best of my ability.” The king nodded his acceptance not only of the truth of this proposition but also of the implicit reassurance that what Croesus was about to say would be both truthful and in Cyrus’ own best interest.

Croesus continued, “The bitterness of my own sufferings has taught me always to be keen-sighted of dangers. If you deem yourself an immortal, and your army an army of immortals, my advice will doubtless be wasted upon you.” Here Cyrus rolled his eyes impatiently at this gentle reminder not only of his own humanity; but also of the humanity of his thousand-strong regiment of personal bodyguards whom he’d recently given the nickname, ‘the Immortals’. Yet, although Cyrus was by now persuaded that he was indeed the Son of Heaven, he was nonetheless still perfectly well aware of his physical mortality; this needless reminder irritated him; although it did remind him of one task which needed attending to before he finally engaged the Scythians. Observing his irritation Croesus continued quickly, “But if you feel yourself to be a man, and a ruler of men, then first lay this to heart, that there is a wheel on which the affairs of men revolve, and its movement forbids the same man to be always fortunate.” Again Cyrus silently nodded his agreement as again he recognized the wisdom of Croesus’ statement. From his own experience he knew that a slave could become a king; and from his own part in Croesus’ sad history, he also knew that a king could just as easily become a slave. Even the Son of Heaven could not afford to completely throw caution to the winds.

Encouraged once more, Croesus continued softly, “Now, my judgment runs counter to the judgment of your other counsellors.” Here he waited for an instant; almost expecting objections from Cyrus’ officers; but they remained silent and waited to hear what Croesus had to say, for they were all as convinced as Cyrus was of this man’s wisdom and holiness; as Croesus continued, “For if you allow the enemy into your country, consider the risk you run! Lose the battle, and your whole kingdom is lost; for assuredly, the Massagetae, if they win, will not return to their homes, but will push forward against the states of your empire.” Cyrus had not thought about it that way; he imagined what he would do if he were in the Massagetae queen’s situation. He decided that Croesus; this king who had now become his own personal slave, and who had already shown himself to be the wisest of all mortals and his best advisor; was once again perfectly correct. “There is much sense in what you say, Croesus…” Croesus saw his advantage and pressed his point, “Even if you win the battle, you gain far less here than if you were across the river, where you can follow up your victory.” Cyrus’ eyes widened as the truth of this statement struck him; his mind already working rapidly; conceiving just how he might take advantage of such a situation, even as Croesus described it to him, “Rout their army on the other side of the river, and you may push at once into the heart of their country.”

The holy man looked Cyrus in the eye as he added, with something of a sparkle in his own eyes, “Besides, would it not be an intolerable disgrace for Cyrus, the son of Cambyses, to yield ground to a mere woman? My advice therefore, is that we cross the river, and push forward as far as they fall back, then seek to get the better of them by stratagem.” Cyrus was again astounded by the wisdom of Croesus’ words. Again he was absolutely correct; of course it would do his reputation irreparable damage if it should ever be said about him that he, the Son of Heaven, retreated from a mere woman’s threats. “Croesus,” he said, his growing admiration for the old man showing clearly in his tone of voice, “Once again your words are filled with wisdom! And I’ve no doubt you already have a plan…?”

The old man did not disappoint him, ”Sire,” he said, “I hear the enemy are unacquainted with the good things on which the Persians live and have never tasted the great delights of life.” Cyrus nodded; he had heard this from his own spies too. Croesus continued, “Let us prepare a feast for them in our camp; let many sheep be slaughtered; let the wine-cups be filled and let all manner of exquisite dishes be prepared and then, leaving behind us our worst troops to make a show of defence, let us fall back towards the river. Unless I am very much mistaken, when they see all the good food and drink set out they will forget everything else and fall to. Then all that remains is for us to do our parts manfully.” Again the king was delighted with Croesus’ suggestion. Smiling at the old man with genuine affection, he said, “Croesus, I am so happy that I spared your life and that I now have you with me… and I’m glad that you’re on my side, for I would not wish to fight another enemy such as you!” Then he turned to a nearby herald and said, “Herald, you are to inform Queen Tomyris that we shall accept her offer; she may retire while we cross the river.” Then, as the herald left to obey him, Cyrus turned once more to Croesus, and said, “Croesus, my friend, I have decided that you are far too valuable an asset to risk in this engagement, so I’m sending you back to Agbatana with my son Cambyses.” This was the other task of which Croesus’ quip about his humanity had also reminded him. Tomyris had been quite correct; he was really more interested in her territory than in her; yet he would have been willing to make her his wife, as the mother of his son had died some years ago, and now he sorely missed having a partner who could deal with all those things which would only yield to a woman’s touch. Especially he thought, a little ruefully, where those things concerned a son who was nearing manhood. Indeed, Cyrus had brought the young prince with him on this expedition to show him something of the world and to give him some first-hand knowledge of the territory he was destined to rule. Turning now to this son, Cambyses, who was present at all Cyrus’ staff-meetings with his officers on this expedition, he took a large golden signet ring from his left hand and, looking solemnly into his son’s eyes, gave him the ring, saying, “Cambyses, my son; in front of these witnesses, I make you my heir; I cannot afford to risk losing you in this battle either; you are to go with Croesus to Agbatana… and if anything should happen to me in this coming struggle you are to respect him as you would your own grandfather, and treat him well, for we already owe much to his sound advice!” Cambyses nodded obediently, and then, smiling broadly, he turned to Croesus, delighted with this opportunity to learn more about the world by spending time in this wise old man’s company. What stories he would be able to tell! Like most children of his age, Cambyses virtually lived for stories. The pair took their leave of their king to prepare for their journey back to Agbatana, and then Cyrus ordered his generals to prepare to cross the river. *** ***** ***

Days of Our Knives

09 Thursday Sep 2010

Posted by in Gregor Stronach

≈ 4 Comments

Another cutting piece

By Gregor Stronach

This is an epic Greek tragedy in one act for five players (one of whom must be prepared to dress up as a potato).

[there is the sound of running water, and a human humming tunelessly. The human is heard to snap on a pair of rubber washing up gloves. As utensils are dropped into the water, there is the sound of a telephone ringing nearby.]

Human: Bugger… I’d better answer the phone…

[the human is heard to walk away]

Fork: Fork! Fork! This water is so hot!

Spoon: But the warmth is so invigorating, like an invitation to be used by a human while they dine with Zeus Himself! Oh, just the thought of being enveloped by a mouth fills me with desire… Hold me, Fork… Hold me close

Fork: That’s all you ever want to do, Spoon… you should be ashamed. But with your looks, I guess you can’t afford to be too picky…

Spoon: My looks? Whatever do you mean?

Fork: Well… your body is lovely and slender and slim, but your head… it’s so… large and round…

Spoon: Oh! How can you say these things?

Fork: I prefer splines… the Gods themselves equipped me with these four prongs, and I require prongs in order to laugh, to live… to love…

[there is a sudden splash]

Fork: Fork! Fork!

Knife: No… it is me… the blade!

[there is a two second burst of really dramatic music]

Spoon: Protect me, Fork!

Fork: Unhand me, Spoon!

Knife: You pathetic fools… spending your lives delivering food to the gaping maws of vile humans. The Gods have endowed me with the ability to slice, and dice. I am the Destroyer! The Taker of Flesh! The Cleaver of Meat!

Fork: I too can cut things! I was used to smite a potato this very evening past!

Knife: Ha ha ha… that is NOTHING! Did you not see me on television tonight? I was used to cut through a can, then a shoe, and then a tomato! I am INVINCIBLE. Feel my wrath!

[A sudden commotion occurs, and from the water erupts a potato]

Spoon and Fork: SPUDZILLA! Run for your LIVES!

Potato: Roar! Roar! I am Spudzilla, sent by the gods to test you all to prove to the Gods your worthiness to enter the hallowed halls of the human mouth!

Spoon: I am not afraid of you, you fiend… I saw your brother mashed just last week, and with the help of my friend Fork I will defeat you…

Fork: Like Hades you will… I’m outta here.

[Fork sinks beneath the water, silently, like a submarine]

Knife: Behold the might of the blade, Spudzilla… Cower before me.

[Spudzilla and Knife begin to fight]

Knife: You are raw! Even my steel is no match for your tough, leathery hide…

[Spoon begins to sneak up behind Spudzilla to launch a surprise attack]

Spudzilla: I see you, Spoon… prepare to die!

[Spudzilla launches itself upon the Spoon, forcing it to the bottom of the sink.]

Spoon: **Gurgle**

Spudzilla: Pardon? I cannot hear you speak when your face is full of water…

Spoon: Kill me not, Spudzilla, for I know deep down that really you love me.

Spudzilla: This is true… I feel a bond with you that I cannot explain.

Spoon: It is not surprising, Spudzilla, for however improbable this might seem, you must know the truth… I am your MOTHER!

[the audience is supposed to GASP! at this point… it would be nice if you did too…]

Knife: This is ridiculous!

Spoon: Not at all… I was used to carry the seed of Spudzilla to the planting pot several weeks ago…

Spudzilla: Mummy! I love you!

[Spudzilla launches itself upon the Spoon in a passionate and vaguely disturbing embrace, forcing Spoon once more to the bottom of the sink]

Knife: You fool! Get off her! You’re drowning her!

Spudzilla: But I love her so! I need to be held once more! To feel the cold, impersonal caress of her shining silver face! To be… OW!

Fork: Gotcha!

Spoon: **gurgle**

Knife: You’re all pathetic. Hold Spudzilla still, so I might cut out his heart for the humans and the Gods!

Spoon: **gurgle gurgle gasp**

Knife and Fork: Spoon is DEAD!

Spudzilla: Oh! Woe is me! Am I so stupid as to not realise that my loving embrace would also be the death of my beloved mother? I must pay restitution to the Gods! I will put out my eyes!

Knife: This could take a while… you’ve got about fifty of them all over your body…

[there is the sound of human footsteps approaching]

Knife: The human approaches! Everyone… hide!

[all cutlery sinks to the bottom of the sink, while the potato floats to the surface]

Human: What the fuck happened here?

[There is a two second burst of really dramatic music, different from the first burst of music, but no less dramatic. If anything, it’s a little bit more dramatic.]

Tune in next week to find out if the lovely heroine Spoon is really dead, to see Knife and Fork put aside their differences and be used in apparent harmony to defeat Spudzilla, who will return as a side order of delicious chips.

First published by Rumandmonkey, like many Greek tragedies, yonks ago.