Only one.. there's only one

Only one way to ensure that these murdering buggers (word used in its colloquial sense, as 'not very nice people'), only one way to ensure these murdering buggers get their just deserts.

And what are they?

Well Deserts come towards the end of the meal. It begins with an aperatif. (Regard this as a Wedding - or a night on the tiles.)

The first thing, in the main meal, is soup.

The soup in which my father's affairs swam, was pretty murky. It was the sort of soup which you might expect to find in a sewer. Full of penningtons and claytons .. and a bit cheesmanny, but prior to that certainly a bit odd. Not something about which to write home.

The main course is a bit more substantial. It's the sort of hearty fare one would expect on a winter's night. Full of the 'meat' of human intermedling, the like of which would be expected to get the intermeddlers into jail. Vegetables round it were related to the intermeddler.. a bit soggy with the soaking of cash-gravy. So soggy that they gently congeal in guilt .. and having congealed they find they can't run.. though they need to. Each time they lift a gravy-soaked foot, they leave a tell-tale footmark.

Of course there are condiments to this main course. Salt and pepper, which stand .. alone... Though they do appear to be slightly sticky around the gills

Then there is the 'pudding'. Always a favourite dish, the 'pudding'. Today's pudding is called 'milk' pudding. But that is a misnomer.It consists of the very best grains of related rice. Little tiny incestuous grains, which flocculate.

They congeal and divide and wonder at the stickiness of the situation. Milk pudding with no careful settling digestion. but only the bin.. in the yard. Then the tip. Deserts indeed!

Ah! The petit fours. A welcome interlocution. Something a bit too much but.. very welcome. The petit fours .. are little snippets. the sort of thing one would not quite expect.. but still they come. Arriving on some late, late night, just when the time has arrived, for the Bill.
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Protest songs and poems - coming shortly

  • A Full Index
  • Abide With Me (mine)
  • Dead An Buried? Ardly!
  • Director of Public Health - Dr Tony Baxter
  • If - (not by Rudyard Kipling)
  • Jayne Brown - The Cover-Up Woman
  • Practice - Field Road Made
  • Quack Quack Dr Lee
  • St John's Hospice - My Father Was Not Dying
  • Thanksgivin? Thanksgivin? Ah'll be Waitin On
  • The NHS/PCT Thinks You Should Go
  • The Palliative Gillian
  • The Power behind the Patient Dr Brown

Who was Ralph Winstanley?

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