confessions at the dinner table
we had a small saint pats dinner on sunday [sorry my blogs suffer from delayed action] and we had couple of pints of guinness. actually, copious amounts. shona and scott from across the road are of irish heritage and so they had plenty of stash to share.
dinner was cool. plenty potato, carrot, asparugus, spam, corned beef... you know the stuff the had to stop the famine all those centuries ago. to be honest i cannot stand guinness: bitter, thick and has to be chewed before swallowing. what really gets me is the after taste, or rather the trail of foam leading from the tip of tongue through the buccal cavity straight past the pharynx and down the oesophagus. makes you squeasy, innit? however, after a few sips [pints maybe], the tastes buds adjust according and the rest just flows.
then it was time to confess to our patron saint, patrick.
me first [always the one who's mawala-rizing!]: when i was 13 in my first year of high school [boarding school too] i, with the help of a friend who shall remain nameless - actually it was ross - went shopping in the local village [growth point!] near the school. now the village at the time had a plethora of speciality shops, boutiques, sidewalk cafes and very lively street markets. unfortunately for us, it was almost end of term and hence had very little, if any, cash reserves. we ventured into a shop called sheelah's. i can still vividly recall the shop assistant perched on a wooden crate by the door, staring into oblivion with a feather duster clamped under her armpit, picking her teeth with a piece of grass from a mthanyelo. ross, being the white guy, acted as decoy whilst i went in for the kill. you know, the white guy keeps chips while the black guy steals. just like in the movies. i sauntered to the back of the store started searching frantically for anything edible that was stealable. i went in for the kill, stuck my stash inside my blazer pocket and we ran for it, leaving the shop keeper staring into oblivion. what was new? coast clear, i took out my prize possesion: a jar of peanut butter. as so, we spent the rest of the afternoon scooping peanut butter behind the hammond huts with our fingers. man, was it good!
dinner was cool. plenty potato, carrot, asparugus, spam, corned beef... you know the stuff the had to stop the famine all those centuries ago. to be honest i cannot stand guinness: bitter, thick and has to be chewed before swallowing. what really gets me is the after taste, or rather the trail of foam leading from the tip of tongue through the buccal cavity straight past the pharynx and down the oesophagus. makes you squeasy, innit? however, after a few sips [pints maybe], the tastes buds adjust according and the rest just flows.
then it was time to confess to our patron saint, patrick.
me first [always the one who's mawala-rizing!]: when i was 13 in my first year of high school [boarding school too] i, with the help of a friend who shall remain nameless - actually it was ross - went shopping in the local village [growth point!] near the school. now the village at the time had a plethora of speciality shops, boutiques, sidewalk cafes and very lively street markets. unfortunately for us, it was almost end of term and hence had very little, if any, cash reserves. we ventured into a shop called sheelah's. i can still vividly recall the shop assistant perched on a wooden crate by the door, staring into oblivion with a feather duster clamped under her armpit, picking her teeth with a piece of grass from a mthanyelo. ross, being the white guy, acted as decoy whilst i went in for the kill. you know, the white guy keeps chips while the black guy steals. just like in the movies. i sauntered to the back of the store started searching frantically for anything edible that was stealable. i went in for the kill, stuck my stash inside my blazer pocket and we ran for it, leaving the shop keeper staring into oblivion. what was new? coast clear, i took out my prize possesion: a jar of peanut butter. as so, we spent the rest of the afternoon scooping peanut butter behind the hammond huts with our fingers. man, was it good!
When peanut butter is treat....ah thats when you know, you are a real hardknock. LOL!
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10:10 pm, March 23, 2006