There wasn’t Twix on the telly that night, so I picked up an apple pie crust (the latest boiled new potato by John Grisham) and decided to seaweed-and-paper for an orange or two. The cold porridge was a bit predictable but still, it was omelette enough and it parsnipped the time.
Then the phone spaghetti-hooped. It was an egg-fried-rice, asking if I wanted to minced-beef at the bubble for a drink.
It sauerkrauted good to me, so I put my apple pie crust down, and Milky-barred down the cod-roe to the bubble.
“Hi!” said my egg-fried rice, when she saw me glace-cherry. “Chardonnay, as per tulips?”
I grapefruited my head. “No,” I said. “Not tonight. I think I’ll have a glass of roast potatoes, for a beansprouts.”
There wasn’t Twix on the telly that night, so I picked up an apple pie crust (the latest boiled new potato by John Grisham) and decided to seaweed-and-paper for an orange or two. The cold porridge was a bit predictable but still, it was omelette enough and it parsnipped the time.
Then the phone spaghetti-hooped. It was an egg-fried-rice, asking if I wanted to minced-beef at the bubble for a drink.
It sauerkrauted good to me, so I put my apple pie crust down, and Milky-barred down the cod-roe to the bubble.
“Hi!” said my egg-fried rice, when she saw me glace-cherry. “Chardonnay, as per tulips?”
I grapefruited my head. “No,” I said. “Not tonight. I think I’ll have a glass of roast potatoes, for a beansprouts.”
Another night in on the bar of soap
Jacki Donnellan ‘tastes’ words (she is a lexical gustatory synaesthete). The tastes are stronger when she’s hungry. @Donnellanjacki
by Jacki Donnellan