It's part of your five a day. Five fruity treats you're allowed by law. The Scottish Government might think so. They know what's best for us some say, now that they lost their profile pronouns to keep the oldies on side. Back to oranges; ironic somewhat in a country where our national fruit is the bramble, available fresh for only one week in September weather permitting. So scoff some fruit and take a brisk walk and a wee peek at the tweets from observers of the GB news.
They being the dodgy commentators and smarties who certainly know where the bodies are buried. They're just not telling anyone because, well in their opinion nobody could care less anyway. Just best to appreciate that the bodies were buried there by the Russians, though some may indeed have been reanimated and continued on as MPs. Nothing to see here.
I hadn't really enjoyed oranges for years. I felt guilty. Imagine the Tudors getting a crate of them from the King of Spain, between wars that is. The food taster would be busy but eventually they'd be able to eat some. It must've been a knockout moment at the court. "This (orange coloured?) fruit is fuckin' brilliant your majesty!" In return they sent them a crate of cabbages and a bucket of welks.
Looking back in history it's hard to understand why more Scottish people(s) didn't up sticks and move to Spain, the South of France or Italy just to get out of the dreich and gloomy weather. I suppose there were various employment laws, ongoing inquisitions and religious persecutions that may have discouraged such free movement. There's always some Priti Patel type waiting out there to piss on your chips. Anyway I'm back to liking oranges.
No comments:
Post a Comment