A couple of days ago, Friday maybe, I fought a battle.
It started with a tiny little yearning, that grew to a desire and then to a craving. I needed a pickled gherkin, nothing else would do, I would have a gherkin or die trying.
The problem with this simple wish, for there is always a problem, was that the jar was new and therefore unopened. This always presents a dilemma for we can never know in advance if the jar we choose from the shop will be a mild compliant jar well versed in its duty and quick to surrender its contents on demand, or, whether it will be a wayward jar, reluctant to fulfil its intended function and difficult to subdue.
I removed the jar from the cupboard, I spoke softly to it so as not to give it cause for alarm, for I have noticed how things will tighten when roughly handled and did not wish to make an already potentially traumatic experience more so for want of a kind word or two. I took the jar to the table cradled it gently but firmly and twisted. I twisted some more, harder this time and harder again. I relaxed, paused for a moment and resumed a more enthusiastic twist; I confess I grunted at this point, but to no avail. Setting the jar on the table once more I considered my next move. Clearly this jar was not going to surrender the crisp juicy delicious objects of my desire without some further effort on my part, but what and how to do? My faithful canine companion chose this moment to make an unexpected appearance at the table edge; he lives in hope that I will make the mistake of leaving a succulent roast chicken within his grasp…..again. I pounced! The jar distracted by the sudden appearance of the hound would stand no chance against my renewed assault I reasoned, and bellowing the ancient war-cry of my ancestors, I twisted, grunted huffed and puffed for a full 60 seconds, nothing moved so much as micron.
Annoyed, I moved to plan B. Emptying the sink I ran the hot tap. The water, cold at first became warmer and warmer, then hotter and hotter until the sink was hidden in a cloud of steam. I turned off the tap, placed the jar in the sink and slowly turned the tap back on. I gave it a ten count and twisted, nothing. I tried again, and again, and again.
Plan C Boiling water from the kettle.
I poured and poured and poured, a whole kettle worth of boiling water, I squealed, I burnt my fingers, though this incidently, was not actually part of the plan. I waited, swore, did the dance of the scolded then screamed with rage and launched an assault of Kursk like intensity. Battle was joined. Man against jar, an epic struggle of survival from the dawn of time. We fought, tooth and nail, war to the knife. My mighty thews coiled like giant snakes beneath my well oiled skin. I screamed and cursed in many tongues yea even unto the C word…lots…… I felt my consciousness expand as the power of the universe flooded into me, filling me with the raw energy of creation; I became unstoppable, primal, ancient, an avatar of destruction fuelled by the fire of the gods themselves……….
The lid popped off…
Victory…..!!
I sobbed with exhaustion as the life force of the cosmos drained from my flesh and reached a tentative hand to my goal…
They tasted a bit stale to be honest.
I quite fancy a pickled egg now, but I’m not sure I can be arsed to go through all that again.
So, Pickled eggs..love em or hate em?
I love em….
Whack on a big pair of comfy pants and forget about it till things are back to normal again.
I think "The Grudge" 1 and 2 have to be by far the best I've seen in a while.
Stormy, not a lover of clowns..feck all to do with Steven King by the way, I just don't rate him at all.
After six weeks of school holiday, I hardly say anything other than swear words....
Can I have an Old Fart please.....
There's only two things in the world I love, the duodecimal system and demolition pyrotechnics!
from Some Judge Rinehold film
In my experience, it involves Chocolate and pissing me off....though not necessarily in that order....
designer foofoo
as did the lamb.... 
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:lol: :lol:
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