Tag Archives: friends

Trago Mills

I’ve been a busy girl today.

After a trip to a huuuuuuuge raft fair in Exeter last week I was inspired to buy a lampshade making kit. Hideously overpriced and with a rubbish range of fabrics to choose from I went ahead and bought it anyway because I had a cunning plan.

Today I put my plan into action and dug out the piece of fabric that I’d had in mind when I bought the kit.

Here is the end result of my very first foray into lampshade making. I’m quite pleased with it. I’ve already had two people wanting to buy it.

What do you think?

I made a lampshade!

On a different subject entirely:

Some weeks ago (ok, before Christmas) Lashes told me that she wanted to go to Trago Mills.

You’ve probably never heard of Trago Mills unless you live in the south. It’s a positive cornucopia of anything you could possibly want to buy. It has a reputation for being a place to go to get things cheaply. The B&B owners all go there when it’s time for their start of season refurbishment programs as you can get everything from carpets, kitchens and bathrooms to clothes, craft supplies, food, clothes, even wet suits.

I’ve been telling Lashes for ages she needs to go but the more I told her the more she resisted.

“Lashes, you need to go to Trago. It looks like a castle with turrets and everything!! You can buy ANYTHING, they have a miniature steam railway and a petting zoo and a Japanese garden and, and, and.”

She would always say to me, “It’s only a bloody shop, you make it sound like a magical place. Petting zoo indeed. Castle? Pah! You’ll be telling me they have unicorns next.”

“Well, I’ve never seen a unicorn, not a real one anyway but they do have peacocks.”

“Oh really? she’d reply in a scathing voice as she looked up to heaven.

Anyway, one cold and wet December day we were out shopping in Newton Abbott which isn’t a million miles away from Trago Mills and she suddenly said. “Let’s go to Trago.”

Off we went.

As we pulled up outside and she saw the turrets she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it really does look like a castle.” I smirked.

We walked across the car park and her jaw dropped as the miniature steam train sat chuffing away gently at the miniature station, all decked out for Christmas and looking really quite, well, magical. My smirk broadened into a smile at her cry of surprise and delight.

As we walked past the lovely old fashioned flower stall outside the main building a couple of very beautiful peacocks strolled past us. At this point I was grinning broadly and feeling a little smug I just couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I said, “Oh look, peacocks. Fancy that.”

Her face was a picture. Every corner we went round she was met with another surprise. The little kiddies funfair, the lovely, massively underpriced cafe, the little, quirky shops, “Did I exaggerate then?” I asked her.
“Not at all. If anything you underplayed it” she said as she cooed and aahed at all the animals in the petting zoo. “I’m coming to spend a day here with the kids, it’s amazing” Ha! It’s not often Lashes is impressed. I’m impressed that she’s impressed.

I don’t think we got into the actual shop. By the time we had finished walking round all the attractions it was well past time to leave. Oh well, that means we’ll have to go back again. We might have to allow a bit more time. After all, we didn’t get to sample the warm, home made, lemon drizzle cake with lemon sauce and clotted cream. Worth a trip back just for that. It is a bit of a magical place, Trago, all it’s lacking is a unicorn or two. PS I don’t work for Trago haha.

In other news: Our choir has been learning a very beautiful song, ‘All of Me’ by John Legend. The harmonies in it are amazing, it makes me shiver when we sing it. Anyway, last night a few choir buddies came round for a little drinkie and a choir ‘practice’. Between us we had a couple of sopranos, an alto and a couple of basses so we reckoned we’d have a go at this. My God. Somehow, amid all the gin and wine, some of the lyrics changes a bit from, ‘Cards on the table we’re both showing hearts. To: ‘Cards on the table we’re both blowing farts.’ Now that has become an earworm and I’ve been singing it all bloody day. Make it stop!

Here is the original version for you to enjoy. Try not to sing the wrong words.

Sing it loud, sing it long!

We had a few of the choir round for a ‘practice’ last night.

You know me well enough now that when I say practice you know I mean drunken singing.

The plan, as we had a quitetish weekend at Boofuls Towers Lodging Emporium was to have a bbq with a few choir friends. Of course the weather didn’t play ball so we ended up inside. Quite fortuitous really as rather than have the bbq we planned we managed to use up the box of Indian buffet items that have been logging up the freezer for months. Everyone brought a few snacks and we quite the international buffet going on with bhajis, pakoras, nachos, sausages, pizza and various other items.

It’s amazing really, guests never, ever come into the bar during the day. Ever.

Yesterday of course was different.  The German couple who had just arrived decided to come down for a mid afternoon drink. They walked into the bar and instantly worked out that there was a private party going on. Their faces were a picture but it was too late to back out, they were there. We tried to make them feel welcome but it was a bit difficult as they spoke very little English. Try explaining the English delicacy of mushy peas to a person who hardly speaks English. They practically necked their drinks in one and cleared off.  I did feel sorry for them but I was glad when they left.

Equilibrium, banter and hilarity were restored until, bugger me, the guests from room 1 decided to come into the bar! WHAT?  How do these people know we are having some down time? They must have a bloody alert implanted in them, you know, the one that goes off when we are about to eat our evening meal, go out, go to the loo or have some time with friends. The one that makes guests instantly become demanding and needy of our company? You couldn’t make it up, it works like magic. Every. Single. Time.

At least the second lot spoke the language and even decided to have a go on the karaoke, they were good fun but they too cleared off after one drink.

Anyway, the afternoon turned into evening and then late into the night. The singing became more raucous as the day wore on. What a hoot.

Some of our hotelier friends are envious of the fact that we have friends who aren’t hoteliers. Personally, I think that is vital. Can you imagine what it would be like if all we ever had to talk about was occupancy rates compared to last year, gossip about other hoteliers or the merits of various laundries? My eyes are glazing over at the thought of it.

As I’m typing this it has reminded me that recently someone has commented to me that I tend to compartmentalise various sections of my life. I keep personal, hotelier, choir and other sections of my life as separate as possible and really don’t like them to cross over if I can avoid it.

It’s not a new thing, I have always kept various sections of my life separate. Difficult to do when you work from home and harder still ow we own a B&B but I try my best. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? What are your thoughts on the subject?

My brain hurts

Oh my Gawd!!!

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this, slightly queasy, slightly dizzy, slightly blurry vision, extremely windy and with a little man inside my head using a pneumatic drill.

I feel terrible. Do you feel sorry for me?

No? Oh. I see you’ve put together my symptoms and come up with a diagnosis of ‘major hangover’.

You’re not wrong. Yes, it’s self inflicted.

Now anyone who knows me well knows that even though I come across as a party girl I am in fact a very light drinker. Our next door neighbour, also a hotelier, caught me putting water into my wine once and was disgusted with me. Now I get teased about it all the time when we have a hotel ladies get together. The hoteliers social life is about to take off as it is, in case you haven’t noticed, October. A week or so to gather up a bit of energy and then the party season will start right up until March. We were begging for a break from it all last year. “Noooooo….not another bloody party, I caaaaaaaaaaan’t. It’s more knackering than working!”

Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s already started. That’s how I came to be out last night.

A really lovely hotel manager and her oppo and I hit it off as soon as we met. Always doing other things we kept saying, we must meet up for a drink sometime. Anyway, ‘some time’ was yesterday. “Come out for gin cocktails and a curry. Bring Boofuls”, came the missive.

It would have been rude not to.

Have you noticed how gin has become a fashionable drink recently?

Served in a goldfish bowl sized glass with half a rain forests worth of greenery in the form of herbs or other ‘botanicals’ in it. Mine was served with star anise and rose petals. Very pretty, very nice. I only had one to their two.

We chatted, caught up with the gossip, debated where to eat and generally chilled out, we were having a lovely time. Until the only other person in the bar came up to our table. A woman, probably in her thirties and very, very drunk came up and put her arms round one of our friends. “You’re so beautiful. Can I come and join you?” She staggered around a bit and we all looked in horror at each other. The silence was deafening.

Eventually, Boofuls piped up with, “Well, not really, we are going out to eat in minute.” “Thash ok *hic* I’sh come wiv ya.”

Once again we all stared at each other and then at the table top. Not wanting to be rude but absolutely not wanting the extra company. The table top became utterly fascinating as we all stared at it. Eventually, she got the idea that she wasn’t joining us and staggered off, straight to the bar where she picked up a glass of wine from someone’s order and started drinking it. At that point she got thrown out. WE heaved a sigh of relief. I bet she has a humdinger of a hangover today.

Anyway, we toddled off, after much debate, to a local Indian restaurant. Boofuls hates Indian food but he was out voted on the basis that they serve English food as well, as long as he wanted an omelette.

It’s ages since I’ve been for an Indian, it was delicious. The waiter brought our wine. After one mouthful each we realised he had brought chardonnay rather than the sauvignon we’d ordered so he rectified his mistake while saying, “just finish the other bottle off.” So we did. Oh God.

MY little head was starting to feel a bit swimmy when we left the restaurant. All in all it was a brilliant night out.

Shame that Douggie the Doggie decided to alert us that he was going to have a seizure at 2.30 this morning. Take it from me, nothing will sober you up faster than that. I leapt out of bed, got him downstairs and dosed him up with his tablets. It always scares me giving him an extra dose but if I can catch a fit early enough I can stop it in it’s tracks. As it did last night. The only trouble then is that he goes into such a deep sleep that I spend all night feeling his chest to make sure he’s still breathing. So, Douggie’s world record of over three months without a fit still stands.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating going back to bed and watching my snoozing dog. The world is making waking up noises and my brain isn’t giving me ‘it’s morning, get moving’ signals. Actually, my bed is looking more attractive by the minute. No work for me today so… beddy byes it is for another hour. G’night all, I have to go and sleep off my excesses – so I can do it again tonight!

I love October, I may have to go back to watering down my wine if I’m going to survive, though.

That’s Entertainment

In a rare moment of feeling hospitable recently I decided to invite some friends over for dinner. We haven’t had a dinner party for aaaaaaaages. Then I decided to invite another couple over as well because I thought they’d get on well with the first couple as they had a lot in common. Well, all the girlies had something in common anyway. We are all, or have been, photographers and all have dogs. All the two chaps have in common is that they have been lucky enough  to bag themselves beautiful and clever wives many years their juniors.

Both lovely couples, I was looking forward to it not least because it gave me chance to flex my culinary muscles and do some proper cooking for a change. Tricky finding  meal that everyone will eat with a picky, picky, picky eater like Boofuls, a fat fighter like me and a vegetarian to cater for. I didn’t want her to feel like she was difficult by serving her something totally different.

So. I made a roasted tomato, red pepper and garlic soup. That fit the bill for everyone. It was rich and unctuous and contained not a single calorie or ounce of flesh. Then I decided to have beef wellington for the main course. I’d love to say I made them but I didn’t, they were on offer in the supermarket and I was still searching for inspiration so I bought them. I did however make the mushroom and chestnut wellingtons with a red wine jus for me and the vegetarian guest, they were deeeeelishus! Then the important bit. Pudding.

I had two massive pineapples at my disposal so I got googling. Memories of schooldays came flooding back to me when image after image of pineapple upside down cake floated across my screen. Nonononono!! I don’t want a schoolgirl pudding. Pineapple carpaccio? Nah. Not very exciting. Pineapple in a caramel rum sauce? Oh yes!

Good old Anthony Worrall Thompson came up trumps with the best pineapple recipe. I put the sugar in the pan to make the  caramel. Swirl it round the pan, he said. I swirled and watched in delight as the sugar melted and became liquid. Pour in the rum and stir he said, be careful, it might spit. I poured and prepared to stir. unfortunately, the sugar in the pan decided to set solid as soon as the liquid touched it. I ended up waving round a spoon with half a pound of solidified sugar attached to it. I bet that never happens to Wozza!

Eventually, after half an hour of stirring a sugar loaded spoon round the solid  sugar melted down and I got the sweet and sticky run sauce I was after. I lured it over the pineapple and put it all in a slow oven to warm through. It was gorgeous served with vanilla ice cream.  Any other flavour would have been a travesty.

The guests arrived, and as I suspected got on like a house on fire. I love it when a plan comes together. The evening passed in a haze of relaxed chatter and good humour. paying careful attention to which friends to put together paid off as everyone got on really well. I’d forgotten how much I like dinner parties. It’s by far my favourite way of spending an evening.

Now that summer and it’s long, warm,  balmy evenings have gone for a few months I think we might be whiling away the winter months by doing a lot more entertaining.


Gainfully employed

It’s amazing how fast the novelty wears off, isn’t it?

Just a few short months after finishing work there I was tearing my hair out and getting grumpier and more bored by the day.  The I was thrown a lifeline.

My florist friend sent me a message asking me if I’d like a part time job with her until we move house. OH YES YES! YES! YES PLEASE!

I popped over to see her last week and she told me she wants me to be an extension of herself but more organised. Could i keep her diary, website and Facebook presence more up to date and also to help with day to day jobs.

First task. Make some Christmas trees. That involved going into the garden to cut twigs of various colours and then cutting them to size and wiring them into the shape of a Christmas tree and then decorating them. Beautiful, rustic, absolutely up my street. I felt like I should have been paying her. Who knew that floristry involves so much cement?

Second task. Make three Christmas garlands. Again using natural materials, I was in my element. I think I’m going to enjoy this little jobette until we move.

Talking of moving. We have actually got someone to come and view the house next week. Keep your fingers, toes and anything else you have crossed and send us your vibes. It’s well past time we were living in Devon.

This morning I was going to do a round up of all the week’s news but to be honest I’m exhausted. We had a little dinner party last night and invited people who hadn’t met before as I knew they’d hit it off. Good grief. They hit it off alright, they were still here at 1.00a.m. Boofuls and I were almost asleep at the table. I’m normally in bed by eleven at the latest. You might have to wait till tomorrow for the week’s round up. I’m going for a little snooze now. G’night.

The ‘C’ Word

If I hear the word ‘Christmas’ one more time I may have to punch someone. Ho ho effing ho.

Seriously, I’m a big fan of the festive season. Probably the biggest fan of the festive season but puh-lease  can we just wait a few more weeks before uttering the ‘C’ word?

Mind you, the feeding frenzy that is Christmas has already started in the shops. Cards have been on display for weeks along with selection boxes and ‘Brut for men’ gift packs.  Its hard not to think that you’re on  the last minute when you’re being bombarded with: ‘BUY NOW BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!!!!’

Jeez………….*lightbulb moment*  Actually, now I come to think of it, yes.  I almost forgot it was all about him.  I bet his Dad didn’t realise how commercialised and distorted the whole story was going to get when he put his masterplan into action.

Anyway, back to the plot…

I haven’t even had my summer holiday yet, I’m not even entertaining the idea of Christmas till I’ve been back at least a day.

The holidays this year will be er…….interesting. We’re going to Spain with some friends to see a friend, one long overdue for a massive cuddle. I’m dying to see her. Who’d have thought when we met at school we’d still be friends 10 20 30 


40 odd years later. There I’ve said it. Bloody hell! Now I feel  as old as Methuselah – but how nice it is to still have friends from my childhood.

We get back from that holiday, spend four days washing clothes and deleting millions of emails and then we go away again to Torquay to see Boofuls’ brother.  This time we’re going with Lashes, Len, all the grandchildren and both dogs.   Dangerous seems to think she’s going to the Caribbean rather than south Devon. Apparently she’s taking her swimming cossie so she can swim in the sea and play on the beach. At the end of October? Bbbbbrrrrrr.

It’s going to be eventful, I think. I’m already hatching plans to keep three lively kids amused in a ‘closed for the winter’ seaside resort.

You’ll never guess what I did today.

What a dope ( me, not you).

As normal I checked my diary. Shoot at 11.00 a.m. Nothing else for the rest of the day. Ooh lovely, I though,  I’ll go for a nice long walk with Douggie the Doggie – and so I did, it was lovely.

I landed back at work after our walk to stern faces and “Why don’t you take your phone?” I’d only been and gone and missed an appointment!

Quelle horreur!

Clients turned up to view their photos and I’m halfway up the bloody moors! Much grovelling on my part when I got back.

It’s there very clearly in black and white in my diary and I didn’t even see it. Definitely time for a holiday.

It’s here!!

Ordered on the 2nd January, our new suite has FINALLY arrived. YAAAAYY!!!!

After a false start before Easter, the big white lorry turned up on our drive a few minutes ago and as I type a couple of burly blokes are assembling my lovely new settee.

You can always tell how posh a person is by the words they use. A posh person would never say settee. A posh person would say sofa. Calling it a settee means I’ve well and truly given away my working class roots. Damn, and I got away with it for so long!

So other than the excitement of a new so-fa, what else has been happening? Bugger all, that’s what.

We have a wedding booked at a terribly posh venue tomorrow,  in this instance posh means expensive. I’ve never worked there before and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve even bought another camera especially for the occasion. Why can’t I just be like normal women and buy shoes or chocolate when I get hormonal? Even a pair of Jimmy Choo’s is cheaper than a big f**k off pro camera.

Being a professional photographer means that I get asked all the time by ‘friends’ to take photos. Real friends never ask me to work for free. I’m talking about ‘friends’.

“We’re having a party and you’re invited. Don’t forget to bring your camera along.”  “I’ve got this product to sell, will you take photos for  for me?”

Being the non confrontational person I am I usually say yes even though I’m quite sometimes narked by it. It always strikes me as a bit cheeky. I wouldn’t ask them to give me their  product for free, why do they feel it’s ok to ask me to give mine away for free. What makes my product less valuable than theirs?

Answer:  Me being a wuss and agreeing to do it.

I spend more bloody time working for free than I do getting paid. More fool me.

This all came to a head a couple of weeks ago when a ‘friend’ once again asked me to photograph some products for free. During a pre shoot chat he smarmily  mentioned that my last photos were so good they’d, “made their way onto a few other websites.” I looked up from my coffee and garibaldi.

“Yes, a few other sites have picked them up and decided to use them.”

He was clearly expecting me to simper and be all thrilled that I’d got my photos ‘out there’.


Exit wuss. Enter Godzilla.

“WHAAAT?  Well, you’d better let me have the names of these ‘other websites’ and I’ll get in touch and have a little word about copyright theft.”

At this point he realised that he might have made a small error of judgement with  his last comment  and tried to brush it off by saying, and I quote: “Relaaaax, it’s all good.”

By now the red mist had well and truly descended. Not only have I done a ‘friend’ a favour, saving him upwards of £300 and had my work stolen, now he decides to patronise me in the process.

“Good? There’s nothing good about it. This is how I earn my living. It’s theft as surely as if they’d lifted something off a shelf in a supermarket.  I let you have those photos in good faith and now they’re being stolen left right and centre and you’re ok with that?” Just tell me where they are and I’ll contact them to get them  removed a bit bloody sharpish.”

All of that last little bit came out in one, loud, fast, garbled flood of words. I was incandescent  with fury.

A small glimmer of realisation that I might not be best pleased came into his eyes, along with a larger glimmer of “SHIT!  I passed the photos on, I’m in deep dooodoo.’

“Um, um, I’ll sort it out, leave it with me.”

So it  transpires that, my ‘friend’ decided to pass them on to all and sundry. Thanks a bunch ‘friend’.

Think I may finally have learned a lesson.

Rant over.

An homage to Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson

So bezzie mate and her husband came to visit for our Christmas morning practice run of champagne and croissants. I mean, you need to know that it’s all going to run perfectly on the day,  and as they say, practice makes perfect.

Dear oh dear.

I think it’s important to point out her that  bezzie mate and I have been friends since we were 12 and that’s * starts counting on fingers, runs out of fingers and starts counting on toes as well* since…er…. a lot of years, since 1972 in fact. She’s the one  of the very few people with whom I  don’t need to be ‘professional’, ‘grown up’ or anything else. She knows me as well, if not better than, many of my own family and she’s a baaaaad influence. in fact I blame all the following shenanigans on her aided and abetted by Boofuls and Stuball. Me? I’m completely innocent in all this, led like a lamb to the slaughter (yeah, right).

After our third bottle of champagne we decided to film a Christmas greeting, a song by Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson.

Before I show you our ‘Christmas 1022 video’ I’d like to welcome  my new readers. Thank you for considering my little blog worthy of reading.

I’d also like to apologise to all my readers and bid goodbye to the readers who thought that I was going to be providing you with cool, sophisticated and thought provoking posts. it was nice meeting you  and I don’t blame you if you leave. The video you are about to watch is in fact the real me, the rest is a facade.

Before you watch this there is a health and well being warning to take into consideration.

WARNING!! There was alcohol involved and there may be a small smattering of Anglo Saxon. Actually, quite a large smattering. Ok. It’s filth from start to finish with LOTS of vile language, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Watch at your own risk:

British Sausage Week

It’s British  Sausage Week!

Everyone, bring out yer  bangers to celebrate !  Ooh – er Missus, that sounded a bit rude – by bangers obviously I mean sausages not the other meaning. We can’t have people running round the streets bare chested shouting ‘Look! I’ve got me bangers out for British sausage week.”

Oh, there is so much scope here for  a whole post of Benny Hill type smut but I  am resisting  the almost overwhelming urge to regress to the level of a twelve year old boy and moving  on swiftly before I lose the battle:

What do you mean you ‘ What the hell are you talking about now?’

British Sausage Week, of course.  Didn’t you know about it?

Let me explain.

Thursday. My favourite day of the week.

Thursday starts with an early morning dance lesson. We’re still on the Paso Doble and it’s progressing nicely, thank you. Thursday’s  lesson deserves a whole post to itself so I won’t say any more just now.

Thursday is the day me Bezzie mate and me get let off  our respective  leashes for a few hours to catch up on the gossip, get a spot of lunch, throw in a bit of shopping because it would be rude not to, and then we generally round off the afternoon by going  to the spooks  for  a bit of God bothering at our local spiritualist church. We know how to live!

The chosen lunch  lunch venue this week was Oswaldtwistle Mills, known locally as ‘The Bubble Factory’.  I’s a nice place to spend a couple of hours as long as it’s timed correctly so you manage to avoid the  pensioners who arrive by the coachload and then rampage round the place wreaking havoc on your shins with their zimmer frames and motorised wheelchairs. A posse of pensioners with a determined gleam in their eyes like aged Hell’s Angels, wheelchairs in formation coming at you at speed, can be a bit daunting while you’re nosying through the nick knack section. The  best course of action we’ve found is to leap out of their way before they reach you in order to protect your ankles and absolutely DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT! That can lead to a full half hour discussion about their latest body part replacement while you look around wildly searching for an avenue of escape. “I’VE GOT NO SPLEEN, YOU KNOW.” They’ll announce at full volume at you as a good enough reason to snatch off you  the item you’ve just been longingly holding and planning to buy.

So, avoiding the marauding pensioners, we made our  eventually way to the fancy food section so I could peruse the goodies on offer and hopefully pick something up for Friday’s  dinner party.

Puh-lease!  We’re supposed to be leaving the smut behind us! When I sad ‘pick something up’ I meant food! Tsk!

As we walked drooling past the puddings, the cheese and the baked goods we arrived at the butcher’s counter and saw this sign:

Source: Martin the butcher via twitpic

Try you (sic) hand at sausage making? That sounds like it could be a lot of fun! Come on!

“Can we have a go?” I enquired, just  as bezzie mate’s eyes alighted on this picture:

Noddy Holder, British Sausage Week
Source: http://www.nfmft.co.uk/html/british_sausage_week_2011.html

“Oh. My. GOD!!! She squealed with delight as she came over all unnecessary. “Look at this.” She waved a leaflet under my nose, wafting it round excitedly. It took a moment for my eyes to be able to adjust to the frantic wafting but I finally managed, after grabbing hold of her wrist to keep it still, to make out that it was none other than Noddy Holder himself.

Her hero. Hard to believe, aint it?

We were both big fans of a band called Slade in the seventies. She had a bit of a thing for Noddy Holder when we were kids. Obviously, she still has.

” ‘Course you can have a go,” said the butcher, smiling at  bezzie mates squeals, ” come back in twenty minutes and we’ll be ready for you.”

Twenty minutes later we presented ourselves back at the butcher’s to clock in as trainee sausage makers.

Well. What can I say?  It was hilarious!

First we were led to a sink to wash our hands, an easy enough task you might think for women of our mature years.  How exactly does one operate a sink with no taps?  We stood their scratching our little blonde heads (our own, not each others) until the answer was shown to us by the good humoured  butcher in charge of   middle aged, slightly manic, amateur sausage makers.

The sink had a knee operated tap. Durr. Did I feel stupid!

We were shown how to thread the slimy, cold sausage skins onto the nozzle of the filling machine and proceeded to churn out a lovely looking six foot long sausage each. Not too shabby at all, if I do say so myself. Next came the linking of said sausages. Bezzie mate took to it like a duck to water. “Push them through at 12 o’clock, pinch, twist drop. Repeat.”

That sounds so easy, doesn’t it?  Could I get the hang of it? Could I hell!  Much hilarity followed, most of it at my expense. Those sausages flipped and flopped and  dropped and did everything but link. Big fail in the sausage linking task. The butcher got fed up of watching me destroy the six foot long sausage and  took over proceedings. Eventually the  sausages were linked and off they went to be sold in the shop. Our sausages! Sold in the shop! Ha!

Here were are with our bangers on display.

Source: Martin the butcher via Twitpic