My children do not enjoy as diverse a diet as I did when I was their age. In part this is because I am not at all as good a cook as my mother and in part because they are the pickiest eaters in Ireland.
I am spending a couple of days with my parents (photos of flooding may follow, hold your breath) and this evening my mother cooked prawns for the offspring. It was then that I realised that they had never even had a frozen prawn before, let alone one still encased in its shell. They gazed in horrified fascination at the little bodies laid out for their delectation. They winced as I screwed off the thorax and pulled out the edible part. The Princess then began to create new bodies using the heads and pincers. The boys were too afraid to even touch them. So, your best guess, did they eat any dinner tonight?
Sounds like The Princess has a glittering career ahead working on genetically re-engineered supersoldiers for the military. Or re-engineered super-prawns, for Findus.
I always feel sorry for prawns. They look like they’re caught mid-dance: “yaaaaay, life is so much fun, wooohoooooGLURK”.
In a curious coincidence, I see in another Firefox tab that just this second you’ve added me on Flickr. And here I am over here, commenting.
Watches synchronized, Waffle.
That’s a bit scary Mike. Watches sychronised, we’re good to go.