I bloomin' 'ate the buggers. Horrible, turgid, near-death experiences. They've got it in for us. Sundays must have been the runt of the litter. I reckon they got bullied at school. Sunday School, ha ha.
I attempted to engage this one in traditional combat by preparing hefty chunkage of roasted cow, with trimmings. My first ever attempt at Yorkshire Puddings would have been quite a triumph in itself, had Sunday not managed to arrange for a greased, non-stick tray to still bond with the batter at the sub-atomic level. Arse.
Still, it served to fatten up the Loved One for another week of chasing micro-organisms; and to repay her in part for a spiffing repaste @ Kazha, Cardiff's new Kurdish restaurant, yesterday. Recommended.
I didn't really burn her, of course. I can prove it. I think...
