The Life (or is it death?) of Brian - pictured in happier times.
It's that time! It's show time!! He's arrived, or rather I collected him. Meet Brian, the Christmas turkey.
My boy is going to spend a couple of days chillin' out - literally - before he takes centre stage on Monday. Ok, so he's not so big - just 10lbs to be precise - but I am the only one here who will enjoy his oven-bronzed beauty on the big day, owing to a slight hiccup in the marital stakes. Still, it could have been worse. Whereas I got Brian from the Acme Joke butcher's in my village, a pal ordered a turkey from "the posh butcher's" just round the corner. It weighed in at 14lbs - and cost him £60!!!!! For that, I would expect the bastard thing to baste itself, having entertained with card tricks and prepared all the veg! I learnt my lesson at "the posh butcher's" many years ago.
I should have known there was going to be a problem when I walked in and noticed the whole shop was laid with shagpile carpet - seriously!! The 247 assistants all wore pristine, matching uniforms, unlike my guy who staggers out in a blood-stained tunic, with a fag on the go, and clutching a chopper and a chainsaw. Then I heard the sounds of one of the miriad blue-rinse, posh, pensioner types in there - "Two rashers of bacon and a sausage - and have them delivered!!!" Jesus! Not my kind of territory.
Anyway, Brian and I are going to spend a couple of tender nights together - any port in a storm - and then he's stepping up to the oche.
Posh turkeys for Grantham? I don't know - and Brian and I don't care.
Count on a comeback
23 hours ago
2 comments:
FREE THE TURKEYSTAN ONE
Back off, man! We're happy together. Besides, he's called Brian, not Stan.
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