God damn this eternal heat blast. I came out this morning to a cold grey atmospheric condition, thus plastered on 15 layers of wool, PVC and Rubber to keep me both the warm AND the dry and not 15 seconds after motorwaying through to the work zoned area, all the grey went to Scotland leaving a giant heat crack hanging over the countrywide area, creating a heat blast equivalent to Zambia in July. This has caused the PVC and Rubber garments to melt away, vulcanising my flesh and turning me into a walking bin bag. Just what the Dr ordered and no mistake. Hopefully, as the heat begins to boil, the melted plastic second skin should drop off and I'll be fine by luncheon. Not that I'm complaining mind, I prefer a heat crack to a rain down any week of the day, be it Wednesday, Thursday or Christmas Cracker day. Mind you, not much chance of a heat blast on Christmas Cracker day, not unless you're on Bondai beach or somesuch.
Apparently Easter on Bondai is a big disaster make no errors on this one please... Allegedly, so many melted eggs end up in the ocean that a swarm of hens is guaranteed pretty much every Easter if you live down under. What an odyssey that would be, by and by! Poor hens though, all those feathers in heat crack temperatures, they must be roasting make no mistake.
Talking about roast chickens, guess what I had for dinner the day before last? That's right! Fish and gravy. But honestly, would you eat fish with gravy? I wouldn't, horrible. Filling and nutritious to be sure, but tastes like a block of flats and make no mistake. I mean beef and fish? Winning combination. That's like eating lamb and crab, or burger and scampi, or prawn and steak... Oh no, wait a minute, they DO eat that don't they... smurf and turf apparently? Honestly, there's nowt as queer as folk and make no mistake and soforth and so-on. No wonder we're a nation of fatties when you think about it. I mean take me, I've ALWAYS been quite the fat, even since I was an eft. In fact, I was such a fat eft I could drink 4 lots of bust milk in 1 sitting; not mother's bustage of course, that would be wrong; no, the milk from a cow's bustage, which is by far the more natural and the convenient method of bust food. I think more and more women (and men now) are contmplating the effortless wonder of cow bust-milk for thier pet babies. Appartently it stops blow fly and foot and mouth; so I guess it makes sense really.
Were you fed by mother's bust or cow? What about your eft? Oh that's right, bust fed, I remember well the smell.
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