Thursday, March 29, 2007

Finnish meatballs in a sour cream sauce

THE fervent little ball of fiery energy that is Bram seems to be burning out with just days to go before the smoking ban is introduced across the hostelries of Wales. I call him little ball because his appetite is such these days that he can only do up one button on his Joseph-and-the-Amazing-technicolour waistcoat that he wears every day to work.
Brammy has been on a mission over recent weeks, as readers of this blog will be well aware. It has been his intention to launch such an outpouring of human rage across this small nation that Welsh Assembly wallahs will shrink back under their blankets, turn off the lights and try to pretend they never even thought of banning us from smoking in public.
But it appears God has interfered with the highly-devout little man's plans.
First it came in the form of two local newspapers refusing to print his letter calling for a massing of the troops and a full-scale sit-in protest at the Boar's Backside on the fateful day - April 2. Then the Lord again moved in a mysterious way, ordering local shopkeepers to refuse him when he asked to put notices up in their shops calling the disaffected to his rally of the hard-put-upon masses.
And on Wednesday night came the final straw. He ambled his way up to the Boar's for a swift pint courtesy of his student card (yes, Brammy has himself a student card even though he must be in his hundreds by now and has never been within belching distance of a University) - only to find the place had caught fire!
Since then he has been wandering around, white as a sheet, muttering things like "Act of God... He doesn't want me to protest..." and other such witterings to anyone who cares to listen.
Perhaps he heard the Voice of God booming out that same night: "Hey, Rippers, where are we going for a pint?"
Becks, meanwhile, suggests that Brammy might be adding another song to his repertoire to play in the Abergavenny folk club of a Thursday night: "I didn't start the fire..." Eat your heart out, Bruce Springsteen.

Last night I cooked Finnish meatballs with spaghetti. Lovely. Recipe to follow later...

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