Partridge in a Pear Tree - C

Not really a re-mix.  I wasn't happy with last year's attempt.  So it's all new.  
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I tried archery recently.  Quite a lot of fun but I feel that it would be easier if I had a smaller nose - it kept on getting in the way.  The mythical Amazons were alleged to cut off a breast to stop it impeding the bow-string.  I wouldn't need to go to such extreme lengths - maybe use half an old sports bra to keep a moob out of the way.   However, after whacking myself on the nose every time I released the string, I felt that some kind of protection was needed - maybe the rubber bulb off an old fashioned car horn.  That was certainly was my nose looked like at the end of the session.

A partridge flew by whilst we were shooting.  Probably not on its way to a pear tree.  The elderly and respectable gentlemen shooting next to me declared loudly.

"If you're going for a bird, you've got to go straight up the arse!"

Undoubtedly, this is sound advice.  Perhaps a little random for the middle of a field in November. Also, wasted on me as I am a middle-aged married man.  I might pass this nugget onto my son but not yet - he's only 9 and at best, it will just confuse him. Maybe I'll get it put on a t-shirt for him.

Of all the game birds, apparently the smuttily-named woodcock  (fnarr!) is the best-tasting of all.  The woodcock (fnarr!) has rocket-assist. It ejects all the contents of its digestive tract when it takes off - it shits itself into the air.  I would imagine that being shot at helps that process considerably.   Because the woodcock (fnarr!) is shot shitless (try saying that after a pint of cooking sherry), it can be cooked with the guts still in.   Very nice (apparently) and also brings us neatly to pear trees, by way of cider and perry.


Like the woodcock (fnarr!), the hardened cider & perry drinker also evacuates his bowels before taking off.  Not because of a rocket-assisted 'flight or fight' reflex but simply because that's what cider does to your insides.  

Cider is evil stuff.   The apple seeds in it make it slightly poisonous and in large quantities, the toxins can induce hallucinations, paralysis and death.  The acidity removes cloggages from internal pipes - all cholesterol build-up is swept away but also the contents of the intestine are rapidly evacuated - usually when you least expect it.  The acidity also causes extreme arthritis and forces Somerset cider drinkers to take their scrumpy with a dash of lemonade in it to cut it.  Order a cider top in rural Somerset and they'll embrace you as one of their own.  Do this anywhere else and you'll look effeminate.

Perry is a more civilised drink - cider made from pears. Perhaps too civilised - most people's experience of perry is Babycham -  the sickly, fizzy GILF-tipple with the Bambi rip-off.  But real perry can be very nice and less fighty than cider.

Simple to make too.  Although, if I used the pears from the tree in my Mum's garden, it would be 40% pear juice and 60% liquidised wasp.  Wasps love pears and wasps love me.  I don't love wasps.

I'm very allergic to wasp stings.  I was stung on the hand a few years back and less than an hour later my hand was the size and colour of an over-ripe mango.  If I get stung in the throat, I'm in trouble.   And with this in mind, my 7-year-old daughter wrote this when I was helping her with her maths homework.



Translation:
I hate Dad. He is allergic to wasps stings.  If you see a wasp, please send it to St Davids Road, house number 41, blue door.   Thank you for making my Dad swell up.   <kisses>

Awwww! She's even drawn my grave for me! Bless!



And on that happy note, Merry Christmas to you and yours.

xx