Christmas Special Constipation

So I was watching the Australian Women’s Weekly Christmas Special last night, because my life has come to this. Mr. Woog was sitting next to me, and when they began to make table ornaments out of balsa wood, he questioned my sanity, as I sat there beginning to question it myself.

But I mean, Maggie Beer was on! And I am of the firm belief that she should be Australian of the Year, each and every year because of services to deliciousness!

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So enamoured with our Maggie, I even once write to her a few years ago confessing my appreciation for all that she does. And guess what?


But I digress…

So a couple of cooking tv ladies began to get all excited about prunes. “Prunes are marvellous!” one cried out, but I cannot agree. Prunes are not marvellous. Pomegranate is marvellous. Passionfruit is marvellous and let’s not forget mangos.

The adversity I have to prunes stems from when I was duffed with Horatio. After a while I found I was backed up like the F2 on a Friday afternoon of a long weekend. And understandably I was not happy about it, and when I am not happy about things I tend to whine like a little bitch. Mum got sick of me carrying on and turned up on my doorstep with a bottle of prune juice and an unfettered insistence that I drank a full glass of it.

Sweet mother of all things evil! I sipped away at it, protesting at its revolting-ness until my glass was empty. A short time later the heavens opened and I was a much happier camper. But I still see that prune juice as the devils good, even though it did me a massive favour.

And that is what I was thinking about when they made their christmas stuffing with their marvellous prunes. Because my brain, much like prune juice, works in mysterious ways.

Do you watch Christmas Specials and feel real shit about the fact that you are thinking about what a pain in the ass a huge big tree in the middle of your house actually is?

Anyone off to Bunnings today to buy balsa wood?