Hello, is anyone left out there or are you all in prison for looting Primark and Dorothy Perkins?
I have resisted the urge to offer a view on the recent disturbances, I did not want anyone to feel that I was making light of the situation, especially as people lost their lives, their livelihoods and their homes.
Then it occurred to me, if I don't carry on then I am letting the lawless thugs rule - so I'm here, with brush in hand, and I intend to carry on being insensitive, witless and sarcastic, because you deserve me!
As I write this modern masterpiece in social exploration, the Prime Minister is on his feet in a recalled parliament basically bollocking the Police for not being tough enough on the ruffians, bollocking parents for not being strict enough with their little lambs and bollocking anyone who isn't sat within a few feet of himself, because no matter what caused the riots it's got nothing to do with politics!
What he wants to see, and what the general public want to see is flogging, water cannons, rubber bullets, more flogging and perhaps the odd execution. That'll learn the little buggers a serious lesson in how to behave. Just think of all the new jobs created in the Department of Public Correction and Humiliation.
The blame game is well advanced on this one, parents are getting it in the neck because the kids should be at school not roaming the streets - talk about MP's being out of touch...it is the school holidays I think!
Parents do have to take their share of the blame, you see it all starts at home when kids are very young. Let me paint you a word picture...
Little Johnny and little Mary are playing with their toys in the playroom of their humble little five bedroomed home in leafy suburbia. Johnny likes his pretend tool kit and Mary likes her fluffy little pussy cat. Suddenly, Mary grabs hold of the tool in Johnny's hand and snatches it away - obviously Johnny cries out and this noise attracts the attentions of the au pair Ingrid. (Mum and Dad are working in the City).
Ingrid, hearing the noise, asks the plumber with the big droopy moustache to pull his trousers up, and she goes to investigate...she discovers little Johnny sobbing and little Mary trying to insert the tool into her lunchbox. (You thought I was going to say fluffy pussy didn't you? - You disgust me!)
Ingrid turns to little Mary and says, 'would you like to give Johnny his toy please Mary?' and Mary says 'No! Mummy told us both that we should share our toys'.
And there we have it - the whole problem of looting, take what you want because mummy said to share and the au pair accepts the situation because she wants to help a plumber loosen his nuts.
We should come down hard on these awful parents who teach children that they can take what they want, we should really teach them all to be selfish and only play with toys that they have purchased themselves from their trust funds.
Let me pose this question...are all looters really bad people?
Of course they are - why are you even thinking about it! You are going on the list my friend...Eric Pickles will have your guts for garters, and your liver for breakfast.
You see, life is really simple - there are the 'haves' and there are the 'have nots' - I am a 'have not' because I don't have a brand new plasma screen, Nike trainers or a Blackberry.
Do you think I can apply for some benefits to help me go on a training course so that I can learn how to get all of those lovely things? If I do, they wont last long...my next door neighbour is called Little Mary, and she believes in sharing.
Well I hope this has helped you all understand the world a little better, I'm off now to brush up on my back hand, fancy applying for the post of chief flogger in residence, Mansfield District Council.
Just an afterthought - If I have offended anyone with this blog I do apologise - but it's not my fault - it was my parents and my lack of education and a job and that I don't believe in god.
Thursday, 11 August 2011
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Reflections on a Long Week
Hello my dearly cherished horde, I hope this missive finds you in fine fettle...
It seems just short of forever that last we spoke, and the time has arrived once more for me to reach out through the electronic mist of misery and embrace you all with my big strong masculine arms.
There has been a lot of hugging in my life this week and I must admit I am rather partial - I'm not very good at being standoffish and I leap in for a grapple whenever the opportunity arises.
This week Mrs B and I were blessed with a visit by the whole Amos clan, they had not travelled this far north since before Amy Winehouse was famous...so hugs all around.
Our eldest nephew, Samuel, stayed on for a few days whilst the rest of the clan flew out to Menorca on a well earned, all inclusive holiday. The hotel has already felt the dip in profits, as nephew Max devours all the food and my little sister Alison, devours all the local booze! My brother in law, Simon, is far too restrained to have made such an impact.
As Sam stayed on with us for a few days, we suggested he invite our godson, Liam, to come and stay. So, there we were with two 18 year old lads in the house, the testosterone levels went through the roof and I felt their presence, my own energy levels increased substantially and I found that I could scrape six new potatoes in the time it normally took to scrape three!
The other thing you notice with two extra bodies in the house is that by the time I got to the shower there was no hot water left...and I was amazed at that because I thought teenage boys didn't shower!
Eventually they departed and Mrs B and I headed north, arriving in Lancaster, where I was to conduct a baby naming ceremony.
More hugs followed, reunited after several years with Callum (the dad) and meeting for the first time Rachel (the mum) and then meeting the little angel herself (Elsa). Both families were present and some of them I had not seen for a while so more hugs all round.
I must just say, baby naming ceremonies make such a nice change from funerals - and I have three more to look forward too in the coming weeks. There are bound to be lots of hugs and I imagine that by November my arms will be really tired.
Little Elsa is a very pretty baby and although I only met Rachel for the first time on Saturday I can see that she is well capable of looking after not only her daughter but Callum too!
It makes my old cynical heart soften just a little when I see such contentment and I wish Elsa and her mum and dad lots of happy days.
Now off with you all, I have work to do!
I have to visit the supermarket and liberate a pot of yoghurt and some milk as well as write a funeral before trying to scrape six potatoes - it's going to take a long time as my testosterone levels are back to those normally attributed to a neutered sloth!
Carry on.
It seems just short of forever that last we spoke, and the time has arrived once more for me to reach out through the electronic mist of misery and embrace you all with my big strong masculine arms.
There has been a lot of hugging in my life this week and I must admit I am rather partial - I'm not very good at being standoffish and I leap in for a grapple whenever the opportunity arises.
This week Mrs B and I were blessed with a visit by the whole Amos clan, they had not travelled this far north since before Amy Winehouse was famous...so hugs all around.
Our eldest nephew, Samuel, stayed on for a few days whilst the rest of the clan flew out to Menorca on a well earned, all inclusive holiday. The hotel has already felt the dip in profits, as nephew Max devours all the food and my little sister Alison, devours all the local booze! My brother in law, Simon, is far too restrained to have made such an impact.
As Sam stayed on with us for a few days, we suggested he invite our godson, Liam, to come and stay. So, there we were with two 18 year old lads in the house, the testosterone levels went through the roof and I felt their presence, my own energy levels increased substantially and I found that I could scrape six new potatoes in the time it normally took to scrape three!
The other thing you notice with two extra bodies in the house is that by the time I got to the shower there was no hot water left...and I was amazed at that because I thought teenage boys didn't shower!
Eventually they departed and Mrs B and I headed north, arriving in Lancaster, where I was to conduct a baby naming ceremony.
More hugs followed, reunited after several years with Callum (the dad) and meeting for the first time Rachel (the mum) and then meeting the little angel herself (Elsa). Both families were present and some of them I had not seen for a while so more hugs all round.
I must just say, baby naming ceremonies make such a nice change from funerals - and I have three more to look forward too in the coming weeks. There are bound to be lots of hugs and I imagine that by November my arms will be really tired.
Little Elsa is a very pretty baby and although I only met Rachel for the first time on Saturday I can see that she is well capable of looking after not only her daughter but Callum too!
It makes my old cynical heart soften just a little when I see such contentment and I wish Elsa and her mum and dad lots of happy days.
Now off with you all, I have work to do!
I have to visit the supermarket and liberate a pot of yoghurt and some milk as well as write a funeral before trying to scrape six potatoes - it's going to take a long time as my testosterone levels are back to those normally attributed to a neutered sloth!
Carry on.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Save the Children, Kill the Ants.
I bet you thought I'd gone and forgotten about you all - well I do try but as Miss K Minogue said, I just can't get you out of my head...you'll be singing that all day now.
I have just returned from having my ears lowered, the conversation in the chair running from transvestites and drag queens to uncomfortable medical conditions.
I was early for my appointment because the roads were empty, as Mrs B points out it's school holidays and that means the all the four wheel drives are at home rather than taking little Jocasta and Basil to school.
In my day, school holidays were times when you would see more children out playing but now we have a fear that behind every bush lurks a predatory paedophile, so we keep our children in a cupboard under the stairs just to be on the safe side.
The fear of crime prevents children from having a childhood, when I think of the hours of endless fun we had as kids, taking a stick and playing cowboys and indians or pirates. How we laughed as we romped through the countryside, carefree, singing songs about deer and tea with jam and bread, hiding from the Nazis...hold on, I think my childhood was turned into a film!
Anyway, I didn't want to talk about these things today, I wanted to ask if anyone else is suffering the curse of the flying ant?
Our rather splendid conservatory is full of dead flying ants, they are dead after I assaulted them with lethal levels of anti-ant spray. I have battled wave after wave of the blighters, but still they come.
Why do we need flying ants anyway, I think the little crawling ones are quite sufficient in the scheme of things - the next thing you know is we will be having flying spiders or flying earwigs and Mrs B will not approve of either of them buzzing round her head as she sits in her rather splendid conservatory sipping her pink.
Anyone with a fool proof way of disposing of flying ants please let me know - perhaps there is someone out there who likes flying ants, in which case let me have your address and I will send them on to you.
Away with you all now, get out into the fresh air and enjoy the summer but a word of warning to parents, when you go out to enjoy the day please leave a bowl of water and a dry biscuit in the cupboard under the stairs - you don't want Jocasta and Basil to feel unwanted do you?
I have just returned from having my ears lowered, the conversation in the chair running from transvestites and drag queens to uncomfortable medical conditions.
I was early for my appointment because the roads were empty, as Mrs B points out it's school holidays and that means the all the four wheel drives are at home rather than taking little Jocasta and Basil to school.
In my day, school holidays were times when you would see more children out playing but now we have a fear that behind every bush lurks a predatory paedophile, so we keep our children in a cupboard under the stairs just to be on the safe side.
The fear of crime prevents children from having a childhood, when I think of the hours of endless fun we had as kids, taking a stick and playing cowboys and indians or pirates. How we laughed as we romped through the countryside, carefree, singing songs about deer and tea with jam and bread, hiding from the Nazis...hold on, I think my childhood was turned into a film!
Anyway, I didn't want to talk about these things today, I wanted to ask if anyone else is suffering the curse of the flying ant?
Our rather splendid conservatory is full of dead flying ants, they are dead after I assaulted them with lethal levels of anti-ant spray. I have battled wave after wave of the blighters, but still they come.
Why do we need flying ants anyway, I think the little crawling ones are quite sufficient in the scheme of things - the next thing you know is we will be having flying spiders or flying earwigs and Mrs B will not approve of either of them buzzing round her head as she sits in her rather splendid conservatory sipping her pink.
Anyone with a fool proof way of disposing of flying ants please let me know - perhaps there is someone out there who likes flying ants, in which case let me have your address and I will send them on to you.
Away with you all now, get out into the fresh air and enjoy the summer but a word of warning to parents, when you go out to enjoy the day please leave a bowl of water and a dry biscuit in the cupboard under the stairs - you don't want Jocasta and Basil to feel unwanted do you?
Thursday, 21 July 2011
The Big Boss
Hello Campers, hope your not getting rising damp with all this warm summer rain.
I was eating my breakfast this morning whilst listening to Charlie and Louise on BBC Breakfast, she was very chirpy and he was his usual arrogant self. They were talking about a new film with Jennifer Aniston about bad bosses and two thoughts went through my head, one was that I better avoid that film and the other was about the worst boss I had ever had.
I then thought, how many employees of Rupert Murdoch wish it was them who planted a custard pie in his face? Never mind they can join the queue of people waiting to stick the dagger in his back.
It reminds me of I Claudius, I initially thought Rupert would be Tiberius, old and perverted and fearful of assassination but then I recalled his son James sat at his side during those Select Committee hearings and realised he was more like Caligula - the Emperor who made his horse a senator - well Murdoch didn't make his horse a senator but he did promote a horses arse!
Over the course of many years I have lost count of the bosses I have worked for, but there are a few who still come to mind. There was the man who could never look you in the eye when he spoke - he would look up at the ceiling or out of the window as he told you how useless you were. He was the sort of boss who never offered praise he only ever spoke to you to tell you how bad you did the job. He was detested and I was told that one disgruntled staff member actually went to his office one night and crapped in the middle of his desk.
There was another boss who was renowned for his nasty streak, in fact the only thing he seemed to show affection for was his prize rubber tree plant. I was assured this story is true and that one day, whilst he was out of his office, someone went in and used a pocket knife to cut two thirds of the way through the stem of the plant and then made good his escape. It was two days later that the thing toppled over right in the middle of an important meeting.
I had my own run in with a certain man whose sense of humour had been surgically removed at birth. One day after a very angry run in with him I returned to the office I shared with many others and I saw the Pirelli calendar on the wall. Now this man had the habit of reading everything then adding his initials to show what a busy boy he was so I wrote on the calendar - 'there are some big tits in this calendar but none are as big as me' - I then signed his initials to it.
Everyone thought it was hilarious - except the man himself. He confiscated the calendar and demanded to know who had written the offending comment however on this occasion he was bettered by one of my work mates who reported the calendar stolen - it was quickly returned.
Mrs B and I once shared a certain female boss - she was bloody awful and we tried our best to avoid her at all costs. She once called me into the office to ask why Mrs B and I never joined the rest of the team when they went out for a drink - my response was "I'm paid to work with you, not to like you nor socialise with you". We never got asked again.
There was one boss who was very approachable and had this habit of asking if you had any ideas about how things could be improved. I decided one day to have a good rant about one aspect of the job and the boss listened, nodded and then said - OK, I'll put you in charge of it - sort it out!
All these years on and I still have not learnt to keep my mouth shut.
I had bosses who were always on the golf course or the snooker table or putting their wages into a fruit machine, I had bosses who tried to stop me and Mrs B from getting married and I had bosses who did all they could to make sure we could.
Of course now I am my own boss (unless Mrs B is at home) and nobody has to crap on the desk although I did once find crap under the desk - not sure of it was Jake or Danny!
OK, nothing more to see here - move along please.
I was eating my breakfast this morning whilst listening to Charlie and Louise on BBC Breakfast, she was very chirpy and he was his usual arrogant self. They were talking about a new film with Jennifer Aniston about bad bosses and two thoughts went through my head, one was that I better avoid that film and the other was about the worst boss I had ever had.
I then thought, how many employees of Rupert Murdoch wish it was them who planted a custard pie in his face? Never mind they can join the queue of people waiting to stick the dagger in his back.
It reminds me of I Claudius, I initially thought Rupert would be Tiberius, old and perverted and fearful of assassination but then I recalled his son James sat at his side during those Select Committee hearings and realised he was more like Caligula - the Emperor who made his horse a senator - well Murdoch didn't make his horse a senator but he did promote a horses arse!
Over the course of many years I have lost count of the bosses I have worked for, but there are a few who still come to mind. There was the man who could never look you in the eye when he spoke - he would look up at the ceiling or out of the window as he told you how useless you were. He was the sort of boss who never offered praise he only ever spoke to you to tell you how bad you did the job. He was detested and I was told that one disgruntled staff member actually went to his office one night and crapped in the middle of his desk.
There was another boss who was renowned for his nasty streak, in fact the only thing he seemed to show affection for was his prize rubber tree plant. I was assured this story is true and that one day, whilst he was out of his office, someone went in and used a pocket knife to cut two thirds of the way through the stem of the plant and then made good his escape. It was two days later that the thing toppled over right in the middle of an important meeting.
I had my own run in with a certain man whose sense of humour had been surgically removed at birth. One day after a very angry run in with him I returned to the office I shared with many others and I saw the Pirelli calendar on the wall. Now this man had the habit of reading everything then adding his initials to show what a busy boy he was so I wrote on the calendar - 'there are some big tits in this calendar but none are as big as me' - I then signed his initials to it.
Everyone thought it was hilarious - except the man himself. He confiscated the calendar and demanded to know who had written the offending comment however on this occasion he was bettered by one of my work mates who reported the calendar stolen - it was quickly returned.
Mrs B and I once shared a certain female boss - she was bloody awful and we tried our best to avoid her at all costs. She once called me into the office to ask why Mrs B and I never joined the rest of the team when they went out for a drink - my response was "I'm paid to work with you, not to like you nor socialise with you". We never got asked again.
There was one boss who was very approachable and had this habit of asking if you had any ideas about how things could be improved. I decided one day to have a good rant about one aspect of the job and the boss listened, nodded and then said - OK, I'll put you in charge of it - sort it out!
All these years on and I still have not learnt to keep my mouth shut.
I had bosses who were always on the golf course or the snooker table or putting their wages into a fruit machine, I had bosses who tried to stop me and Mrs B from getting married and I had bosses who did all they could to make sure we could.
Of course now I am my own boss (unless Mrs B is at home) and nobody has to crap on the desk although I did once find crap under the desk - not sure of it was Jake or Danny!
OK, nothing more to see here - move along please.
Saturday, 16 July 2011
When Jehovah's Witnesses Attack!
A soggy Saturday here on the hill, the view a little obscured by the rain as it lashes down on a typically British summer day. How goes it with you?
It's been a few days since I last popped my head out of my shell, this is mainly due to work issues and to the fact that any spare time has been used wisely in watching or playing golf.
Some of you may already be aware of the fact that the other day I was conducting a funeral when the coffin was dropped - it was a disaster and very upsetting for the family and in all my time of doing this job this was the first and hopefully the last time this has happened.
It's human nature you see, put a step in the front of a chapel and someone is bound to trip up it - just a shame it had to be a pall bearer!
This was on Tuesday morning and I was still feeling a little stiff myself after playing golf on Monday afternoon, shooting an 86 and just pipping my playing partner securing for myself yet another victory over him - I think I must now truly be his nemesis on the golf course.
So, the week had started off well and then we had the unfortunate coffin calamity on Tuesday, on Wednesday as I was sat at home minding my own business, the doorbell rang. It was Janet and Sandra.
For those of you who might have forgotten, Janet and Sandra are the tame Jehovahs Witnesses that come every now and then to my door bringing news of god and his plan for the world - I have grown rather fond of them and we stand for ages talking about whatever topic is on the front of the Watchtower magazine that they thrust in my hand. There is a second magazine called Awake! - that's a little more trendy I think and the cross word is easier.
Janet and Sandra have always done their best to deliver unto me the word, they have always done so with respect and they are fully aware of my thoughts on religion but who knows, perhaps I am their punishment for being not very good at getting converts?
Over the years we have discussed creation, death and all stops in between...but this time something was different.
Sandra was talking about one of the articles entitled 'Life Without Suffering - When?' and it started a discussion about how some people are meant to suffer because of the poor choices they make and that it all started to go wrong fairly quickly for god when he gave Adam and Eve freedom to choose. He had given them a perfect place to live and only asked them one thing and they couldn't do it so they were chucked out on their ears, fig leaves and all, because of a choice they made.
I suggested that if god had not wanted us to make mistakes he would not have given us freedom of choice, it's like putting biscuits in front of a child and telling them they will never EVER be allowed to eat one. It's cruel...is god cruel I asked?
'Oh no, God expects us to obey' - came the reply. The Bible tells us and shows us how to live and if we obey the word we will have a life without suffering. Janet delivered these words with such passion and belief and I could see the power of Jehovah was strong in her this day!
Then Sandra picked up the message, and she shocked me when she said 'it's like those homosexuals who want to sleep with all those men, the Bible says its an abomination in the sight of God but they do it and that is why they suffer'.
My response was a little tame I think but I managed to say, 'I understand eating shellfish is also an abomination according to the Bible, so you really wouldn't be very considerate towards a gay shrimp would you'!
I thought humour might defuse the situation, but no, the power of the message was throbbing within her and she had to vent it all over the door mat!
We carried on talking, the ladies did not believe that being homosexual was anything other than a choice and we eventually arrived at the point in our conversation where Sandra said - 'it's not the person, it's the act that is evil but God punishes the person for the evil act'.
My next question was something like so, if you choose to be gay and then choose not to act on that choice by not engaging in sex that means you are not evil nor a sinner?
There was some brief contemplation before Sandra said, they will still be sinners because if they have those thoughts they might try and fight them but then again with that powerful an urge they might backslide...(very poor choice of words I thought).
Now I knew I had them! How can it be an urge and a choice?
I pointed out this discrepancy in their thinking and once again religion came to their rescue...god tests us, he will place a thought, a strong suggestion, an urge in our brain and give us freedom of thought to resist it.
My final effort was to say, if god was so upset about homosexuality why didn't he have an 11th commandment, 'thou shalt not be gay'? Or perhaps he thought it was covered in 'thou shalt not covert thy neighbours ass'.
I retained my temper with them, they think they are spreading the word as truth and they think they have no choice...that's why I dislike religion.
The ladies left the doorstep smiling, their work done. I closed the door and went back to watching Supernatural on the Sky+.
Well, I think it's time for a cup of tea and some muesli - I enjoy muesli even though in the Bible it says that mixing nuts, oats and fruit with milk is an abomination in the sight of the Lord - it may well be, but it's a very tasty abomination.
.
It's been a few days since I last popped my head out of my shell, this is mainly due to work issues and to the fact that any spare time has been used wisely in watching or playing golf.
Some of you may already be aware of the fact that the other day I was conducting a funeral when the coffin was dropped - it was a disaster and very upsetting for the family and in all my time of doing this job this was the first and hopefully the last time this has happened.
It's human nature you see, put a step in the front of a chapel and someone is bound to trip up it - just a shame it had to be a pall bearer!
This was on Tuesday morning and I was still feeling a little stiff myself after playing golf on Monday afternoon, shooting an 86 and just pipping my playing partner securing for myself yet another victory over him - I think I must now truly be his nemesis on the golf course.
So, the week had started off well and then we had the unfortunate coffin calamity on Tuesday, on Wednesday as I was sat at home minding my own business, the doorbell rang. It was Janet and Sandra.
For those of you who might have forgotten, Janet and Sandra are the tame Jehovahs Witnesses that come every now and then to my door bringing news of god and his plan for the world - I have grown rather fond of them and we stand for ages talking about whatever topic is on the front of the Watchtower magazine that they thrust in my hand. There is a second magazine called Awake! - that's a little more trendy I think and the cross word is easier.
Janet and Sandra have always done their best to deliver unto me the word, they have always done so with respect and they are fully aware of my thoughts on religion but who knows, perhaps I am their punishment for being not very good at getting converts?
Over the years we have discussed creation, death and all stops in between...but this time something was different.
Sandra was talking about one of the articles entitled 'Life Without Suffering - When?' and it started a discussion about how some people are meant to suffer because of the poor choices they make and that it all started to go wrong fairly quickly for god when he gave Adam and Eve freedom to choose. He had given them a perfect place to live and only asked them one thing and they couldn't do it so they were chucked out on their ears, fig leaves and all, because of a choice they made.
I suggested that if god had not wanted us to make mistakes he would not have given us freedom of choice, it's like putting biscuits in front of a child and telling them they will never EVER be allowed to eat one. It's cruel...is god cruel I asked?
'Oh no, God expects us to obey' - came the reply. The Bible tells us and shows us how to live and if we obey the word we will have a life without suffering. Janet delivered these words with such passion and belief and I could see the power of Jehovah was strong in her this day!
Then Sandra picked up the message, and she shocked me when she said 'it's like those homosexuals who want to sleep with all those men, the Bible says its an abomination in the sight of God but they do it and that is why they suffer'.
My response was a little tame I think but I managed to say, 'I understand eating shellfish is also an abomination according to the Bible, so you really wouldn't be very considerate towards a gay shrimp would you'!
I thought humour might defuse the situation, but no, the power of the message was throbbing within her and she had to vent it all over the door mat!
We carried on talking, the ladies did not believe that being homosexual was anything other than a choice and we eventually arrived at the point in our conversation where Sandra said - 'it's not the person, it's the act that is evil but God punishes the person for the evil act'.
My next question was something like so, if you choose to be gay and then choose not to act on that choice by not engaging in sex that means you are not evil nor a sinner?
There was some brief contemplation before Sandra said, they will still be sinners because if they have those thoughts they might try and fight them but then again with that powerful an urge they might backslide...(very poor choice of words I thought).
Now I knew I had them! How can it be an urge and a choice?
I pointed out this discrepancy in their thinking and once again religion came to their rescue...god tests us, he will place a thought, a strong suggestion, an urge in our brain and give us freedom of thought to resist it.
My final effort was to say, if god was so upset about homosexuality why didn't he have an 11th commandment, 'thou shalt not be gay'? Or perhaps he thought it was covered in 'thou shalt not covert thy neighbours ass'.
I retained my temper with them, they think they are spreading the word as truth and they think they have no choice...that's why I dislike religion.
The ladies left the doorstep smiling, their work done. I closed the door and went back to watching Supernatural on the Sky+.
Well, I think it's time for a cup of tea and some muesli - I enjoy muesli even though in the Bible it says that mixing nuts, oats and fruit with milk is an abomination in the sight of the Lord - it may well be, but it's a very tasty abomination.
.
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