I Was Swallowed By A Hippo

Castle life, Aga strife, slummy mummy, average wife

Aga: 348 Mrs MacHall:3*

on September 25, 2013
fake scene of domestic bliss

Fake scene of domestic bliss. Posed by model.

Aga relations reached an all time low this week when, clearly bored with administering third degree burns, the beastly thing decided to poison me instead, seriously upping its game and rendering me useless for 4 whole days. It’s partner in this heinous crime was either a joint of pork it callously under-cooked on Saturday or a poached egg that I was conned into thinking was edible, on Friday. The jury is still out but since Niall also ate the pork and was fine, the pendulum of guilt is swinging towards the egg, and therefore the hens. Could they all be in it together? I know a rational being might suggest I look closer to home (and in a mirror) before apportioning blame on inanimate objects and innocent poultry but I swear that smug, Scandi-chic (my arse), glorified dog-warmer has it in for me and I wouldn’t put anything past those hens…
On a worryingly related note, we have taken delivery of half a pig, in its various guises, to be shared with the in-laws. I say WE, it was actually ME on my own who had to deal with it when it arrived, unannounced on Monday night**. Bear in mind please that I was in the throes of food poisoning and pork was still the prime suspect at this stage. Insult to injury on a grand scale. Now is not the time to go vegetarian. Or Jewish.

*mostly fish fingers, if I’m honest.
** This is not unusual. A few weeks ago I was walking back to the car from a nearby beach with a visiting relation, when a white van appeared from nowhere and pulled up beside us. Having watched far too much Crimewatch in my formative years, I pulled the kids close and hid behind my young cousin (Rachel, 12). Picture my relief and Rachel’s utter bemusement when it turned out to be Andrew the tenant farmer, selling beef.


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