Luke couldn’t decide what to have for dinner. He grabbed a magazine for ideas. These magazines nearly always had a healthy recipe section. There were handy dietary tips scattered throughout the pages.
Chickpeas are very healthy. Cranberries are very healthy. Figs are very healthy. Flax seeds are very healthy. Chili peppers are very healthy. Ginger is very healthy. Grapefruit are very healthy. Green tea is very healthy. Kidney beans are very healthy. Oranges are very healthy. Kale is very healthy. Garlic is very healthy. Lentils are very healthy. Almonds are very healthy. Pomegranates are very healthy. Blueberries are very healthy. Beets are very healthy. Salmon is very healthy. Turmeric is very healthy. Apples are very healthy. Avocados are very healthy.
In the end Luke decided to have pork chops, deep-fried French fries, and lashings of salt and ketchup.
Footnote: Hi Everyone. These days I’m not too good at reading your blogs. I apologize. I have eye cataracts and can’t see a great deal without effort! I’m on the waiting list to get them “done” but when that will be (under New Zealand’s medical waiting list) I have no idea. I have trouble finding the cursor on the computer screen even though I’ve made it large and bright red! My postings may get a bit haphazard as well. So this is simply to let you know why I’m going to be a bit erratic (I said “erratic”) and I’m not looking for sympathy (unlike Prince Harry). I’m tired of thinking every tree stump is a cow! So in the meantime – yjsml upi gpt upit ytience.
It came as a big shock to Andy to discover when he died that he had been reincarnated seven times as a human and each time had been an enormous flop. Each reincarnation had witnessed the scene of unmitigated immorality. Not one had been the same; in fact he had each time fulfilled the requirements for one of the seven deadly sins. In turn he had experienced pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth.
“If I get reincarnated again,” joked Andy, “there are no further deadly sins to experience. I guess I’ll just have to be good. I am determined to live a saintly life this time.”
Whoosh!! He was reincarnated. He was the best mosquito in the swamp.
Elizabeth lived alone with her cat. Such a statement is not an uncommon oxymoron: if one lives with ones cat, one is not living alone.
Elizabeth had a phobia: spiders. It even had a name: arachnophobia. Arachnophobia is both common and debilitating. It should not be confused with fear of spider webs, although sometimes both phobias go hand in hand.
Suddenly there was a big black spider on Elizabeth’s carpet between her armchair and the drinks cabinet. She screamed. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. She felt nauseous. She sweated and trembled. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pounding. She had never seen such a big spider in the house. How did it get there? The entire house had only recently been sprayed.
Elizabeth phoned for an ambulance. She phoned her daughter. “There’s a spider! There’s a huge black spider crawling on the carpet between the armchair and the drinks cabinet!”
Elizabeth’s daughter was there within five minutes. The ambulance shunted Elizabeth away. The emergency was dealt with. The offending bit of black cat fur was picked up and disposed of.
Just beyond Emile’s property was a steep bank on the neighbour’s property. The bank was covered in scrub and served no purpose whatsoever. Emile often threw his garden weeds down that bank when the neighbour wasn’t looking. Nothing could be seen unless the neighbour took up rock climbing or abseiling or something.
On this particular sunny day Emile had dug a hole in his garden to plant a lemon tree and he had a wheel barrow full of clay and stones that he wanted to get rid of. The neighbour’s bank was the ideal place to empty the barrow. And the neighbour was away; in town maybe, for a good half hour.
Emile was about to wheel the barrow to the bank when he heard the phone ringing inside his house. He left the barrow and went to answer the call.
By the time the phone call was over the neighbour had returned. Emile was unable to empty his wheel barrow.
I know that some Readers will find this next bit hard to swallow. The world is full of cynical humans who refuse to follow science and replace the facts with some sort of mythological clap-trap.
You’ve heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back? Well, had Emile tipped the barrow load of soil down the bank at that precise moment it would have upset the entire balance of the planet. The Earth would have done a top to bottom turn. The North Pole would have swivelled to the South Pole, and vice versa.
The phone call had been a wrong number. But I have no doubt that it was some Angel of Mercy who was in the know. Perhaps (there is a possibility) that the wrong call was even made by God in order to prevent a catastrophe. Or it could have been a space alien with a vastly superior scientific knowledge to our own.
Anyway, disaster was averted. Later that day Emile managed to empty his wheelbarrow down the bank. But the dangerous balance of Planet Earth had shifted. We can once again relax with scientific certainty.
Ferdinand gazed out the window. What a lot of rain we’ve been having recently, he thought. He and his partner, Mildred, were having a couple of guests over for dinner. It was just after New Year so things were still a little festive.
Ferdinand had seen a photo of little cherry tomatoes stuffed with what looked like goat cheese. It seemed so merry, like little red Christmas tree baubles. Sit some on a nest of green lettuce leaves and it would make delightful seasonal hors d’oeuvres.
Oh what a delicate operation! Stuffing cherry tomatoes was a bit like trying to thread a needle while wearing boxing gloves.
Anyway, in the long run, everyone enjoyed the hors d’oeuvres of crackers with a slice of cheddar topped with a bit of pickled gherkin out of a jar.
Edmund wrote pornographic literature for a living. It didn’t pay particularly well, and these days it brought in even less money with the option available to modern adults and school children alike who can’t be bothered to read (or not able to read at all) and the availability of audio and video stimulation.
So Edmund turned to other sorts of writing. He wrote scientific papers for various prestigious magazines. His first articles turned him into a household name. He wrote on the value of wearing a mask. It gave him great satisfaction seeing everyone wearing a mask and knowing he’d made the whole thing up.
When Matilda cooked she never skimped on the ingredients. If the recipe called for a certain type of mushroom and she couldn’t find it in the shops, she would abandon the recipe altogether.
This time, however, she had promised quails’ eggs to Ethan for his 75th birthday. Could she find any? You guessed right. Creativity wasn’t Matilda’s middle name for nothing. She got a pile of cherry tomatoes, stuffed each one with a yellow cheese mix, and called them “Quails’ Eggs”.
“They’re called Quails’ Eggs because of the size,” said Matilda. “That’s what the recipe is called. Eat them as an appetizer or a nibble with drinks. And here’s a bottle of wine to go with it. Happy 75th birthday!”
Ethan had never eaten a quail’s egg. He was looking forward to trying it. He got totally blotto on the wine. He hated tomatoes.
Geraldine, over a period of six decades, had been the proud mistress of five dogs. She had only one at a time. Each had their own personality. Each was a distinct breed with their own needs. Of course, Rusco was the only one that wasn’t a purebred. Geraldine didn’t have much of a clue what breed of dog had been crossed with what breed of dog to get Rusco. Everyone was her favourite. She had adored them all.
Of course Geraldine hadn’t lived a perfect life. When she was shopping she often had “sticky fingers”- as the saying goes. There were quite a few other improprieties but they’re not necessary to mention. The reader can use his or her imagination.
Eventually Geraldine died. Imagine her surprise – and joy – when she was met at the gates of eternal life by her five dogs. Suddenly an Angel appeared just as Geraldine was about to enter through the gates.
“Stop!” said the Angel. “Only one dog is permitted to enter with you. You must choose.”
“Choose between my five dogs?” declared Geraldine in amazement. “I’d rather be in Hell.”