It's Boxing day and I'm well and truely goosed. I woke up this morning with a streaming cold. It was only a few weeks ago when I said that since I gave up smoking, I hadn't suffered from so much as a sneeze. Then earlier this month I came down with that horrible 24 hour thing, I felt terrible, I was either too hot or too cold. This time I don't feel so bad but I'm aching all over and my nose and eyes are streaming. In short, I'm well and truely goosed!
Nicola said she wanted a simple Christmas dinner this year, eventually choosing free-range chicken. No problem, I told her and went out to look for one. My looking involved a bloke in the local pub with a leather jacket. He told me he could get me a free-range goose! So, I went back to Nic and told her that the local farmer was going to reserve us one of his finest birds, specially bred for the Christmas table. Fine, she replied, I don't think I've ever had goose before!.
When the big day came, a couple of nights before crimbo, I went out in search of Farmer Giles. (rhymes with piles, as in, he's got piles of money!) I found him, drinking a large measure of brandy, in the aforementioned inn. How's my goose? I asked him, It's under the table somewhere, he replied. I cautiously lowered my head beneath the pub table, half expecting to be pecked by a live bird. No such luck! There was a single Netto carrier bag on the floor and on closer examination I discovered it contained a previously frozen duck. I couldn't get yer a goose, the farmer started to exlplain... Needless to say, I went elsewhere.
I suppose the moral of the story is :Never trust a pub farmer!
Finally, it was more a case of Whalley Range than Free Range...
if you get my drift!