I know it’s nearly winter but the other day I bought an ice cream and – I’m not joking – it had a face.
I mean, are manufacturers even allowed to sell products like these? It could scare children. Goodness knows it frightened the life out of me.
And I’m not being funny but isn’t putting a face on a choc-ice cruelty to animals in a strange sort of way? I’m a part-time vegetarian and even I felt a bit queasy when I opened the wrapper and out popped this:
As I scrutinized its chocolatey exterior (looking for fur) I wondered why on earth a manufacturer would actually want to take a short-sighted, cylindrical-shaped creature with large claws, small eyes and a penchant for worms and turn it into a frozen treat.
Did they have a mole-shaped mould lurking in the back of their stock-cupboard that needed using up?
I knew that I’d never be able to answer such a myriad of questions before my icey subterranean mammal-on-a-stick melted so I did the only thing that I could do: I ate it. But it felt wrong.
No, I’m not lying; I really do have a pancake factory in my back garden and I have three very hard-working girls on the factory floor.
(I used to have four girls helping me out but sadly last week, Semi, my Second-in command ‘moved on.’ Yes, it was an extremely traumatic time for us all and I hope you don’t mind but I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet. One day maybe… but not today, if that’s okay.)
Anyway, back to my hard-working trio (as they now are) and – thanks to them – they’ve made running my fantastic pancake factory a breeze. “How so?” I hear you ask. Well, because each morning at sun-rise they cluck on – whoops, I mean clock on – whether I’m awake or not, and then just get straight on with their work.
They regularly go the eggstra mile for me by producing one egg per laying unit per shift, which is great when I have a particularly large pancake order to fulfill. (What am I saying? I always have a large pancake order to fulfill).
And since day one I can honestly say that I’ve never heard any of them use fowl language. I know; pretty amazing considering their genetics.
And, okay, so I will admit that my lovely ladies don’t live on fresh air. Why, since they’ve kindly agreed to come and work for me they’ve got through (among other things):
6 x 20 kg sacks of pellets (yum),
8 bags of organic porridge (only the best for my team) and
18 packets of dried worms (?!).
But I’m certainly not going to grumble about it because, in 334 days, they’ve supplied me with the grand total of 322 ‘(nest) box-fresh’ eggs which I’ve used to make not only pancakes but also fried eggs, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, poached eggs, egg sandwiches, omelettes, cookies and cakes…
Hey, I’ve just re-read that last bit and how pretty darn great does that sound? I’d be a fool not to ask them if they want to stay on for another year, don’t you think? Yes, so, sorry but I must dash… because I have exactly 22 days to get a fresh contract drawn up for them. With (c)luck the pancake factory WILL continue.
Sometimes I’m glad that I’m not that young anymore.
(I can say that because no-one knows this is me.)
Because with age comes freedom; the freedom to:
bake cakes and eat them;
buy a caravan, sell the caravan;
keep hens and make cute things;
wear pink and love my lawn flamingos:
go crazy for kitsch, bake more cakes or, if I’m short of time (and the hens haven’t laid any eggs) go out and eat other people’s cakes and – perhaps, best of all – with age comes the freedom to
lie about how old I am!
(Well, like I’ve said in my ‘Categories’ – you know, that bit on the right hand side of my blog – I shall never reveal my age unless I am forced to and even then I’ll lie. It’s just something I do…)