Oh yes, a chicken is in the oven. Unusually, it's a normal free range one from Lidl, apparently the parentals are trying it out over their Welsummer or Dorking. It's a cost exercise apparently. Well, so far it looks ok, maybe a little anemic? But once in the broiling bag I guess there won't be much difference once surrounded by carrots, baby potatoes and parsnips. Mmmm, it's making my mouth water at the thought of it, minus the veg of course!
The light still hasn't been fixed in the oven so I am left peering into its darkness imagining it browning and cooking away, making juices and luxurious smells. It will be awhile now - I may as well go for a nap. I shall go on the top of the fidge, from there I can see everything going on. Right into the lounge and every detail in the kitchen as well as poking my head around the door for a spot of birdy watching. This is the life on a Sunday. Stay out of the fray of cleaning and bed stripping. Leave that to the youngans, plus I have my sore sore to worry about. It needs a little wash and a tug at the stitches. In fact, my tongue is so rough that the single stitch at the end, the one that isn't Simon's signature cross stitch, has vanished and I am not one to presume but I feel it might make an appearance in my chocolate gold.
Anyway, I digress a little. I see from various busyments that the Parentals are thinking of going away. Everything is packed neatly and even our going away trays have gone into the car. This means ROAD TRIP! Our collars are laid out and dishes packed. Yep, I think we are all going somewhere with a lady names Amara? Apparently she is a very large 'van'? That's the same sort as me, I am a black and white van. I wonder if this is what they are talking about? ManSlave and Momma took all our stuff away and they were gone for hours and hours, it was way past our noms time and the poor chicken has been in the oven for hours and hourstoo. It is well and truly cooked. I can just see it laying prostrate in it's bag, collapsed under the steam - it has literally broiled to death. I feel that if the Parentals are any later we will be fighting to get that oven door prized open and have us a feast. My tummy is rumbling and Flaire is squeaking in her monotone voice like her Mother.
Finally, the Parentals made it home, they both look very sad and a little cold. But what's this, a big truck and ManSlaves car is perched high on its back. There are discussions over the limp chicken of us not going away to see Amara and that ManSlaves car is very sick indeed. What a real shame. We were looking forward to an adventure. hey ho... I shall dream of this lady Amara. I bet she is one beautiful gal. Oh and we all got some of that broiled chook. It was like eating soup with chicken string, but very nice all the same - I think you could call it stew in a bag!
KS =^..^=
The light still hasn't been fixed in the oven so I am left peering into its darkness imagining it browning and cooking away, making juices and luxurious smells. It will be awhile now - I may as well go for a nap. I shall go on the top of the fidge, from there I can see everything going on. Right into the lounge and every detail in the kitchen as well as poking my head around the door for a spot of birdy watching. This is the life on a Sunday. Stay out of the fray of cleaning and bed stripping. Leave that to the youngans, plus I have my sore sore to worry about. It needs a little wash and a tug at the stitches. In fact, my tongue is so rough that the single stitch at the end, the one that isn't Simon's signature cross stitch, has vanished and I am not one to presume but I feel it might make an appearance in my chocolate gold.
Anyway, I digress a little. I see from various busyments that the Parentals are thinking of going away. Everything is packed neatly and even our going away trays have gone into the car. This means ROAD TRIP! Our collars are laid out and dishes packed. Yep, I think we are all going somewhere with a lady names Amara? Apparently she is a very large 'van'? That's the same sort as me, I am a black and white van. I wonder if this is what they are talking about? ManSlave and Momma took all our stuff away and they were gone for hours and hours, it was way past our noms time and the poor chicken has been in the oven for hours and hourstoo. It is well and truly cooked. I can just see it laying prostrate in it's bag, collapsed under the steam - it has literally broiled to death. I feel that if the Parentals are any later we will be fighting to get that oven door prized open and have us a feast. My tummy is rumbling and Flaire is squeaking in her monotone voice like her Mother.
Finally, the Parentals made it home, they both look very sad and a little cold. But what's this, a big truck and ManSlaves car is perched high on its back. There are discussions over the limp chicken of us not going away to see Amara and that ManSlaves car is very sick indeed. What a real shame. We were looking forward to an adventure. hey ho... I shall dream of this lady Amara. I bet she is one beautiful gal. Oh and we all got some of that broiled chook. It was like eating soup with chicken string, but very nice all the same - I think you could call it stew in a bag!
KS =^..^=
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