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Profile for The magic of chutney:
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Recent front page messages:

Comrades!

In all honesty though, I'd love to have seen it go over in person!
(Fri 15th Feb 2013, 11:30, More)

That's not the wind "rustling" the leaves....

(Fri 19th Oct 2012, 13:02, More)

oooh shucks, ok then...

(Thu 31st Mar 2011, 14:16, More)

This is backed up by scientific FACT!

(Wed 24th Nov 2010, 15:08, More)

I'm sorry.... I really am.
This slipped into my head as I drove down the A1 a few days ago...


(Fri 2nd Jul 2010, 9:59, More)

I view it as a celebrity of the cake world.
Never be stuck without the "cake of Kings" beside you on your desk. Keep it as a constant reminder that YOU are a sweet sweet almond wrapped winner!
Make family members jealous, and fool the cream faced loons you work with, using this papercraft 3D box of wonder.



Get your paper-cakey goodness HERE!
(Fri 20th Nov 2009, 10:51, More)

I am so sorry....
But some of you is so down on fonts..I'm gonna get my man
Johannes to break it down for ya...




please don't put me on ignore....
(Thu 12th Mar 2009, 14:07, More)

That Barry, he's a right one and no mistake....

Edit: Oh clucking hell right before a spambot....
(Fri 16th Jan 2009, 10:31, More)

Maison Funghi

(Tue 23rd Sep 2008, 9:10, More)

The same goes for, blackbird pie fillings and pattercakes.

(Tue 9th Sep 2008, 11:04, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Drugs

.

(Mon 20th Sep 2010, 15:38, More)

» Guilty Pleasures, part 2

Making the weekend shop bearable
When I was but a little chutney growing up in the North East of England I was obsessed by Vikings, the whole shebang, their history, mythology, the ships, the big shiny axes. And their method of writing…

Yes, at the age of about 12 precocious little chutney that I was back then, I knew runes.

No, not just knew them but could write them as well. As I grew older and my historical interests changed I became more interested in Anglo Saxon history and so rather predictably I learnt the Saxon Runic alphabet as well.

Of course as is the nature of life, time passed I grew up and found beer, then ladies and lots of other such equally enjoyable pastimes & eventually after much trying I became a man and put away the childish things of my youth.

But strangely not the runes.
No They have stuck. Years passed and memories grow dim but I still found I could write em and so dear reader that is why, my guilty pleasure is when (if I am organised enough) before I go shopping I write a list…
A shopping list if you will….
But this list will invariably be written like this…
"
(Thu 13th Mar 2008, 14:34, More)

» This book changed my life

O whistle an' I'll poo myself me lad....
Common to many life forming experiences this happens back when I was but a little Chutney of 7 or 8.

Now I have always been a visual minded sort. People say never judge a book by its cover Pah! Cobblers, I have always picked books to read solely based on the cover artwork. Often with disastrous results but at other times to my utter delight. Well this one-day as but a young Chutney, I saw a book in the young adults section of my village library. It must have been misfiled. I remember the cover vividly, A lurid acid green purple sky, split by lightening, was the backdrop to a terryfying face, a mask of terror, skin rotting blood running from the eyes. This was an 80s video nasty in badly airbrushed book cover form. Above this visual feast, was the title picked out in silver foil gothic lettering; The Ghost stories of M.R. James.

I simply had to read this.

I approached the nice lady with at the desk with my Northumberland Libraries junior ticket clutched in my hand. I handed her my selection, but imagine my horror when she stopped halfway through sorting and frowning said “Oh pretty hen I don’t think this is a book for you” Holding up the at the same time this aforementioned gore feast.

Shattered I returned to pick a replacement, why was life so unfair? Reflecting upon the duplicity of adults to package text in such a wonderful cover and deny it to such an appreciative reader. I realised that I had wandered into the little visited “Speaking books and tapes section” at the back of the building. Chance upon chance Looking up I spied an anonymous double cassette box, the cover showing some dull sepia photograph of a wood panelled drawing room and a stone fireplace. Above this diorama of dullness in very conservative Times New Roman type the title "The Ghost Stories of M R James” The very same book! My mind raced. Could it be, would she notice, Dare I even try?

Dare I did, and returning to the desk she smiled and took the ticket out and handed that brittle plastic cassette box right back to me without a second look at the title, I was victorious!

Running home I dug out my faithful battered sony mono tape player & headed out to the back garden. This being a summer of days past I had erected my older brothers single man army surplus khaki tent on the lawn. Clambering inside the baking interior, I sat there in among the smell of cut grass and mouldy canvas and pressed play………

90 minutes later, you would have pulled back the flap of that little tent to find the very air inside brown with fear. I hadn’t moved, I suspect I had barley even drawn breath. Every fibre of my body was locked in terror. Some English worthy of the stage voiced this series of stories. A deep sonorous, Vincent Price of a voice, and as it had narrated that final tale on the tape “O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad
” I swear it is the closest, that I have ever come in my life to having a heat attack. The final minutes turned my bowels to water, When that tape ran out and the play button clicked I swear you would have believed me possessed as I dived from the sweltering interior of that tent and dashed pell mell out of the garden if only to convince myself that I wasn’t going to die at the hands of some fell beast.

Twenty years later I am old enough to own a copy of this marvellous book, and I still dip into it on winter’s nights. Every time I do I am reminded that M R James was the greatest English writer of ghost stories, and the extreme of fear you can suffer in a garden pitched tent on a beautiful summers afternoon.
(Fri 16th May 2008, 12:13, More)

» Accidental innuendo

Every time it never fails
I am just a few months short of my 30th Birthday. Well read and with a wide range of interests, I have a degree and work in the heritage sector. I consider myself a well-rounded intelligent chap with a mature outlook on life.

Yet despite all this. Whenever I watch a nature programme on marine life, no matter who the narrator is, regardless the highbrow exposition and sweeping majestic classical accompanying music.

When ever reference is made to those smallest of creatures the ones down the food chain who Hoover the seabed for sustenance; I never fail to be reduced to a quivering sniggering wreck by the perfectly innocent term “Bottom Feeders”.
(Fri 13th Jun 2008, 14:56, More)

» Pet Stories

Peelmytangerines:
You buy a rabbit; you proceed to build too small a cage in your son’s room for it. You then spray it with aerosols after which, deciding you are too cheap to have it killed, you abandon it.

Would you do this with say a dog? Or does your cruelty have a size limit?

Christ, this QOTW has brought some C*nts to the surface.

Edit: oh ffs the post below says it all.
(Tue 12th Jun 2007, 17:11, More)
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