The smell of burning pig flesh doesn't really appeal to me in the mornings. Each to their own, but Monday morning, after a mega night of not sleeping and doing various activities including scooter races, cheese eating, intense teeth brushing and Romanian cultural immersion in that dodgy place about a 45 minute cycle away from mine which we refer to as "Gowran", I for one was not up for cremated sausages.
So after being bribed with a bag of jellies by Joseph I began the treacherous cycle home. A number of mishaps occured; rain, chain failures (which had to be fixed on the side of the Danesfort hill, morto.5 on the morto scale) , a minor (but incredibly graceful) fall into a ditch to name but a few.
Then, with one last final push along the main road I made it home, albeit completely bushed. Well you can imagine my delight when I discovered I had returned home to none other than a STOCKED KITCHEN!
All better.
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