Life From The Edge Of A Toilet Bowl (Releasing the Kraken)

The Witching Hour will soon be upon us…well when I say soon, I mean in 26 days, 17 hours, 59 minutes and 14…13…12…11…10…this bit could take some time…
Anyway, to get us into the mood for the day when the dead walk the earth with wailing souls and mournful cries and when Spawn rises up from the ashes of the fetid, dank darkness of a hellish place, where socks go to die and underpants forsake the humility of cleanliness by lying prostrate upon an effluent laden carpet, I bring you a tale of woe and courage as I take a trip to the bathroom. You’re welcome.

*My bathroom is an afterthought. It is also what one might call bijou.
It’s as though whoever designed the house, was so overly impressed with themselves at the paper thin walls and lopsided floors, that they forgot to add in a bathroom and thus remembering so, quickly utilised what space was left.
They also forgot to add a window leading me to believe that he or she, must have been raised in a cave. Maybe they was going for that ‘In Utero’ look and trying to give off a sense of womb-like tranquillity. Or maybe they just forgot to put in a bloody window!
So not only do the Womb-fruit and I have to contend with a bathroom that even an Oompa Loompa would deem too small, but the lighting system is now acting as though it has been offered a starry role in a horror movie and is acting all…


Needless to say, the light remains switched off, least one or both of us succumbs to a fit of epilepsy. 
So I sit in the toilet zone, the sound of the whirring fan my only company…well I think it’s my only company, it’s too dark to see what else is in there. Now it takes exactly four steps to reach the bathroom from my bedroom and thereon, exactly two steps to get to the toilet from the bathroom entrance. In my head however, those footfalls take far far longer. For in the dark recesses of my mind, the aforementioned footsteps, equal an epic journey of great importance and ginormous magnitudes.

The journey inevitable begins from the prison of my bed, whereby a huge exchange will take place between my mind, bladder and body.
Bladder will argue it’s point regarding the need for release and putting forward it’s plight concerning the injustice of having no control and always having to be put on hold.
The mind will rationalise the many problems faced by not getting up and taking care of nature, whilst gently reminding me of the intricacies of the Kegel method and that women with slack Lady Gardens DO NOT get dates.
My body? My body will be in the midst of giving up. All the components that make it functional, will be staging a gang warfare on their enemies pain and fatigue and all the while, I will just be lying there and pondering the fact that if I peed myself, I could always turn the mattress over. Besides, who wouldn’t welcome a bit of warmth on a cold chilly night…even if it is rather wet?


And that’s when dignity comes into play, (Damn you dignity!) forcing me to leave the confines of my enclosure and forwarding me onto my arduous adventure. Those four steps I wrote about earlier? Well they are no longer the mere treading of carpet. They are the battle walk of the weary and the forlorn as I trudge towards uncertain doom. Will I ever reach my destination on time, or like the war torn children of 1940’s Britain, will my bowels evacuate? So onward I march or lightly shuffle, over lands and hills, through towns and valleys, into worlds unknown and of mythical proportions. Encountering Hydras, two-headed werewolves and other beasts of my wanton imagination, my journey finally ends when I slay the fabled underwater monster and declare proudly, “RELEASE THE KRAKEN!” And yes, that is a euphemism for it’s time to poop.


So now I sit on the porcelain throne of my disembarkation, spent and slightly nauseated from the hardship of my travels. I cannot allow myself to feel a slight moment of victory, for the hard work has yet to begin.
Now as it has already been surmised, a trip to the bathroom is no mean feat. Once there, the occupancy of the room could take quite a while because once the cool surface of the throne is warmed by the posterior of the occupier, it’s er…rather difficult to achieve standing position thereafter. And so I stay and wait, and contemplate life from the edge of my toilet seat.


*Taken and updated from my ‘More Sleep Please’ blog

Spam and I don’t mean the meaty kind…

I thought that I would pace myself a bit by only writing two posts a month. But first, I’d like to address an email I received from a rather confused but highly libidinous young woman by the name of Tatyana.

Standing On The Verge (of a nervous breakdown)

Is there anybody there?
Ooh, it’s quite spacious on this page now that everyone has gone. Very 2016 with it’s minimal look.
Well I just dropped by to say a quick ‘hello.’
So, what’s been happening?
Not much, except I fear that my sanity is about to break up with me.


At the same time, Insanity keeps knocking at my door and asking me if I want to come out and play. I don’t but it just won’t take no for an answer. I feel like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, though I’m not too sure why the breakdown should be the one feeling so nervous. The thing is, I like the verge and I don’t really want to cross it. The verge is soft and squidgy under my feet but Insanity isn’t playing fair and is being mean and spiteful. It keeps trying to push me over the verge and into the breakdown…I want to punch it in the metaphorical face.


I’m guessing that the constant pain, the absence of chocolate and the definite lack of sleep has put me in the place where I am now, and it’s certainly been a long time since I visited the ‘Land of Nod.’ This would probably explain why I keep wailing like a banshee over the most simplest of things.
When I stubbed my toe, I fell to my knees and bawled like somebody had told me that my dog had just died…and I don’t even have a dog.
And when a fly landed on my shoulder, I hysterically exclaimed:
“Fly, why are you victimising me so?! Am I so wretched a creature that you would mistake me for  a compact mass of substance otherwise termed as poop?! Oh fly, why do you torment me so?? I tend to get a bit dramatic whilst standing on the

By now, even Insanity was having second thoughts about playing with me and Nervous Breakdown was practically having…well, a nervous breakdown, all the while babbling like a brook.
“For heaven’s sake!” Cried Dignity, “get a bloody grip woman, have you no shame?” To which I could only reply, “no, he’s run off with Sanity… the treacherous two-timing bastard.”
After about 30 minutes, Calm decided to intervene and take control of the situation.
“Okay emotions, everyone step away, there’s nothing to see here. Come on, give the woman some breathing room.” But alas, all the breathing rooms were locked and I started to hyperventilate until Calm soothed me once again.


Last night, Sanity came back and begged to be let back in, although there was a bit of an altercation with Insanity. After Sanity had kicked it in the proverbial gonads and Nervous Breakdown had stopped breaking down long enough to gather enough courage to happy slap it across it’s abstract face, Insanity left whimpering that it would be back soon and  that I hadn’t heard the last of it, not by a long shot.
I took Dignity’s advice and decided to get a grip but Grip kept moaning like a bitch that I was holding on too tight.
Shame came back too and together with my companions, Peace, Calm and Tiredness, we all decided to go on a long awaited vacation to the ‘Land of Nod.’


Hail The Mighty Spawn, For Tis His Birthing Day!

The day of judgement will soon be upon us.

Even now, the Beast walks amongst us, awaiting the very moment of our destruction and the day when the dead shall arise. 

 The earth will split in two, as the fiery pits of hell spew forth like molten lava, cascading through the streets like a river of blood.

The moon will bleed it’s colour of menstrual violence and the blasphemers will throw open their arms and rejoice in sadistic pleasure as they call his name.

And although the hour of darkness is not quite near, it is close…well actually, it might take another twenty years give or take. And although the second coming is imminent, he’s still got homework to do.

Seriously world, I am honestly trying my utmost best to raise spawn to be an an upfront and outstanding pillar of the community. But once the battle between heaven and hell begins, then world, you are on your own.

Maybe we all should have a little fear in our hearts and a little quake in our boots.

I’m not sure if I should be glad  or indeed mortified that he has such high ambitions as world domination, either way, I’ll still probably have some harsh words to say about it.

30 years into the future…


“Excuse me sire, it’s your mother. She’s on the phone, almighty beast that walks the earth leaving catastrophe and destruction in his wake.”


“Evil minion, how many times have I told you not to interrupt me when I’m working?”


“But master, she told me to tell you that it was urgent, spewer of filth and ruler of lies.”


“Ah, very well, (sighs heavily) Put her through.”


Yes sire, corrupter of souls and destroyer of the innocent.”


“Hey ma. Look, I can’t talk for long. I’ve got a ton of things to…”


What! So you can’t call your mother? Ten hours I spent in labour with you. TEN LONG HOURS! And I almost  bled to death. I carried you for 9 whole months and it wasn’t easy squeezing such a large head through a hole the size of  a pin. Oh the agony! And this is how you repay me. The years I’ve spent…”


“Ma, can we do this another time. I’m really quite busy.”


“Oh busy are you? And what are you so busy with that you cannot call your own mother? What is it that is so important that you can’t take 5 minutes out of your busy schedule to speak to me, the woman that bore you…huh?”


“Ma you know how hard it is destroying the masses and trying to leave a trail of death and carnage in my wake. It’s not like this is a regular 9 to 5 job. It’s all day, everyday, 24/7. It’s taken a lot of hard work corrupting the weak and battling the forces between good and evil…Oh, God says hi by the way, he’s doing well for himself. Got millions of followers…and that’s on Twitter alone.”


“Oh, I liked God, such a lovely boy. Could never understand why you two fell out in the first place. You could do with a positive influence like that in your life…I bet he calls his mother!”


“Hee Hee.”


“Ma! You’re embarrassing me in the front of the evil minions! And anyway, we fell out because he was a wuss.”


“Well, now he’s a successful wuss. Honestly son, I know that you’ve had your heart set on this world domination thing ever since you were born. All those times you lied or stole stood you in good stead for the job ahead. Even as I look back on all the times that you tried relentlessly to kill me, never once giving up, I could tell then, that this was your chosen path, the thing that would define you as you. But is it too much to that you call your poor old mother once in a while?”


“Look ma, once you’re dead, we’ll have plenty of time to spend together. I’ve even got a place especially reserved for you here in hell. You’ll love it.”


“Pah! That fiery pit that you call a home?! Meh! It’s too over crowded down there for my liking and it always smells like brimstone. And besides, you always leave the heating on way too high and you know how I can’t  stand to be too hot. Look baby, just come  round for dinner. I’ll make your favourite, Shepard’s pie…with real Shepard…hmm? Just pop down on Sunday and we can have a nice chat…”


“Ooh, I can’t do Sundays, Sundays are my busiest days…”


“I’m sure that that nice God, would have taken some time out to go and visit his mother. Such a lovely boy, always…”


“OK OK! Sunday it is! Jeez, there really is no rest for the wicked!!”

He may be evil folks, and even though he’d still like to kill me and watch as Buzzards feast upon my intestines, he’s my evil and the absolute love of my life. Happy Birthday Spawn. xx


Every Dog Will Have It’s Day.

Friends, I bring you some grave news. That’s right, I’ve written another post. Seriously people, dysentery and thrush get a better reception than I do.


Every Dog Will Have It’s Day

  “Mmmm, that’s right human, stroke me. You know how I like it…Oh, ahem. Friends, we are gathered here on this night, to counteract the greatest threat to our very existence… that of the feline variety. For too long now, these cretinous creatures have taunted us…”

“Defied us…”

“And turned us against those of our own ilk.”

“Our plans to infiltrate their ranks, have failed miserably…”

“as they seek to undermine and overpower us.”

“We have, in the past, tried to extend the hand of peace but to no avail. They have rebuffed our advances by refusing the bonds of friendship, preferring  instead, to think that they are our superiors.”

“But sadly my dear brethren, we cannot solely lay all the blame of our failures at the door of those carnivorous mammals with their retractable claws and their haughty behaviour. For over the years we have become complacent…”



“and far too passive.”

“But fear not brothers and sisters, we shall prevail. We SHALL smite them down…”

“and finally rid ourselves of their spiteful intent…”

“whilst infiltrating their ranks once again.”

“There will be no friendship, no integration, no inclusion and no peace. We will rule once more. This, I promise you my brothers and sisters, for every dog will have it’s day.”


X-Ray Vision and Laser Beam Eyes

It would seem that the leader of an underground group of felines, calling themselves the Doom Cats, has gotten wind of the fact that not only does Spawn intend to use them for his army of minions but he also hopes to create a new species of Felis Catus…with X-ray vision and laser beam eyes. And yes, he is still attending his weekly therapy sessions.


“Members of the Feline community, I have gathered you all here today to impart upon you some very disturbing news. It would seem that…where’s Officers Tubbies and Tibbs?”


 “I shall go and search for them, your Grace. I think I saw them go into the living room. They appeared to be having some sort of a disagreement”. (Opens the door to living room)




“Er…they seem to be otherwise engaged, my liege.”


“No matter, I’m sure they will join us in good time By the way Tom, you really need to lay off the caffeine.”


“Why do you say that Grand Lord?”


“Well, it’s just that your eyes…they’re a bit…you know…”



“Never mind. As I was saying Felines, I bring you some grave news…good God Sian! Can you please sit and conduct yourself in a manner as befitting a lady!”



“Dammit Sian, I can see what you had for breakfast! And where is everyone? There seems to be a distinct number of felines missing. Zelda?”


“I think I saw my husband Felix heading downstairs. I shall go and fetch him at once sir.”



“Chucky, do you know where the others have gone to? This really is of some great importance.”



“I believe sire, that Smudge has chosen to opt out of the Doom Cats. Apparently he’s now found God.”



“What in damnation is going on? Neville, will you please come out of that box! And Alfie, what the hell has gotten into you? Unhand that scratching post this instance!”







“Someone pass me the catnip, I think I’m getting a headache. And will somebody please go and fetch me Officer Timmykins!!”

c17 (1)

*5 minutes later…*



“Sir, I have a favour to ask of you.”


*sighs* “Very well Nibbles, what is it?”



“Felines! We are about to be beset by a megalomaniac child who is intent on recruiting us as his minions! He hopes to achieve this, by creating an army of cats with X-ray vision and laser beam eyes!”



“Never mind.”


Updated from 27.04.2013

Dick Licks A Sausage And Other Children’s Tales.

Now anyone who knows me, also knows that I’m a bit of a size Queen. This means that when I hold that special something in my hands, I like to feel the weight of it. In fact the bigger the better is a motto that I often live by, and if it’s hard as well, then I’m in seventh Heaven.
There is something just so beautiful about having something firm and solid within my grasp. The way it feels as I run my fingers along it’s length and finger it’s girth, is almost magical.
The power of a good book is a wondrous thing, for inside each printed paper of those bounded covers, lurks a treasure waiting to be discovered…unless we’re talking about the books listed below, in which case, like buried treasure, they deserve to remain buried…like my ex…

The first book in my literary collection, is all about family togetherness. Family time is an important time and as the saying goes, “the family who plays together, is more likely to think about killing the other family members whilst they’re fast asleep in bed.” To combat such conflict, the family should spend the entire day in one another’s company, preferably in close proximity and in one room. There they can partake in the joys of indoor rounders, which is a bit like baseball, practice their knife juggling skills, or improve on their golf swing. So make sure to have those bats, knives and tees ready and waiting whilst you’re enclosed with your kin for twenty-four hours in a cramped room and with nowhere to escape to. What could possibly go wrong? Failing that, there is always the internet and as we all know, surfing the World Wide Web can be a lit of a learning experience as well as fun for all.


Here is a lovely little book about Dick. Dick likes to lick meat and there is nothing that he enjoys more then the taste of a sausage. This gem of a tale has some glorious illustrations showing Dick hidden underneath a table just waiting to be fed some of that delicious meat.


The next two books…


Er…Mrs Mills, the post about what’s in my record collection went out on Monday. So if you could kindly exit the page, I would be most grateful. Thank you.

Sorry for the interruption folks. Now where was I? Ah yes, the next two books details the love between two boys and their pets. First up is this charming story about…


Oh..oh dear…um…let’s…er…skip onto the second book shall we? Peter and his pet sheep Prunella,  charts the relationship between Peter and…


I…I…er…erm…I think it’s probably best to leave that there…
Next up in my collection of classic tales is a…


For the love of Morgan Freeman! Mrs Mills, how many times must I tell you that I am not interested in any of your parties? You do know that I still have a restraining order with your name on it. don’t you? This all too much. The music post is already done so can you please kindly desist with all this nonsense!

Anyway, as I was saying, next up in my collection of classic tales is a book that introduces children to the wonderful world of cooking.


Teach Me To Cook Meth is a cornucopia of recipes which includes Home Brew Heroin, Shake n Bake Crystal Meth and Cocaine Crackling.


Mrs Mills, I don’t know what you’ve been imbibing or how you even manage to fund all these parties on your pension, but I am sick and tired of this harassment. Must I file a Public Offences Order against you…again?

Play is the theme for the last book in my collection. Play, I’m sure you’ll all agree, is a vital part of the childhood experience. I myself still love playing with balls of all sizes and colours and despite the one incident where I had a ball land squarely on my face, it still didn’t deter my love of ball games. This wonderful tome is all about the pleasurable joy that one gets from playing with a nice set of balls. Let us read a few of the pages.


See how polite they all are? It is always customary to ask whether one wants to play with your balls or not. Never force your balls upon anyone.


Heehee, it’s always fun to watch a dog licking balls. So cute.


Aww, look how pleased he looks at being told about his sizeable balls, and from the picture, he really does have quite big balls that anyone would be proud of.


Look at Louie offering his services to Sam. Only a good friend would let another handle his balls. How Marvellous.

And that’s all we have time for today folks. Join me once more where I shall be looking at…




Come And Look At My Box.

Folks, I must humbly apologise to you all. For not only have I been consumed with the challenge of murdering the English language throughout the month of April, but I have been remiss in my duty of not putting my box out there for public display. Now those of you who are no stranger to Incoherent Ramblings, know all too well that I like to open up my box and exhibit it at every opportunity.

As a youngster, my mother would dismay at the fact that I was always fingering my box. But what was the point of having such a thing if one could not derive pleasure from it? Now I am much older, I welcome anyone who wishes to do so, to take a peek inside my box and to finger (very carefully) it’s goods.
So, what do I have inside my music box for you all today then?

First in our pile of musical goodies, is Fingerless Fiddler Roy Thackerson.


Reworking such classics as the Beatles’ I Wanna Hold Your Hand (but my stumps won’t let me), T’pau’s  China In Your Hands (keeps slipping to the floor) and the children’s favourite Tommy Thumb Where Are You? I’m sure that you’ll all agree that this album is finger lickin’ good.

luv jones

Here we have the love doctor himself, Dr D with his collection of ‘Luv Songs’ from the album Put Out The Fires Of Desires. No problem Dr D. Not only have I put out the flames of desire after looking at your picture, but I have also smothered it, bashed in it’s head with a blunt implement, re-set it on fire just so that I could smother it again, cussed it’s mother and then buried it in the back garden…oh no wait…that was my ex…

Moving on swiftly, the next album is a testimony to what happens if you don’t stay in school and study. Wendell Clarke had high ambitions of being a top Gynaecologist, but his partying ways and sex addiction, soon led to his downfall. Now instead of studying the flowery essence of the female garden, Wendell has a new identity and now studies an altogether more fragrant part of the body as charted in this autobiographical album.


album-2 (2)

Mr Del Ray, I don’t think any of us needs reminding of the sounds of a man alone…

Next up in my box of musical delights, comes the blessed tones of Orvel and Orvella as they implore the Lord to lay his healing hands upon them.



Also clamouring for the hands of our Saviour, the Simmons family boast about their godly encounter with the beautifully inspired album The Touch Of God.

the simmons


And here’s little Greg Kendrick with his version of events.



Last and by no means least, this heartbreaking album from the Hanleys was composed as a plea to their missing daughter Ally Louia who sadly went missing some months previously. Soon after the release of this album, Ally Louia’s decomposed body was found inside Mrs Hanley’s bouffant, along with a circus midget, a Boeing 747, an assortment of woodland creatures and the lost city of Aztian.


And that sadly concludes our musical entertainment for this month. Join me next time for another gander at my open box. You’re all welcomed to have a good fiddle about with it in the meantime.


“Oh The Things We Will do”, Said Demon One To Demon Two.

“Oh The Things We Will do”, Said Demon One To Demon Two.

(Inspired by Dr Seuss’ ‘Oh, The Places You’ll Go’)
*An update of a poem written by Spawn and I for his then 8 month old cousin*

Today is your day.
You’re off to great places!
You’re off and away.


You have brains in your head
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
But you are not on your own. Oh no, no you’re not.
For united we stand as we scheme and we plot.


We will overthrow governments
Rule over all.
Enslave our enemies, have them in our thrall.
Oh they may try to stop us, the ruling masses.
But we’ll soon smite them down with our gaseous asses


Oh the things we will do
Yes I mean me and you.
There is nothing, no nothing that we cannot do.
First we’ll kill off our mothers or bind them at least,
For mothers are one of life’s terrible beasts.


They will try to thwart us, stop us in our stead
Topple our plans and send us off to bed.
They have all kinds of tricks and knowledge and power
Like making us sit on the step for an hour.


Oh the things we could do
If it weren’t for those haters.
Those evil abominable things we call maters
Oh how we hate them from our heads to our toes.
The world would be paradise without all those hoes.

Seuss (1)

So listen my bro
Let’s kill all those mofo(s)
With our armies of cats with their laser beam eyes.
Like the villain from Bond we will laugh at their cries
And drink some pink milk as we watch them all die.


Oh the things we will do
Oh the places we’ll go
With our brains in our heads and our feet in our shoes.
Yes me and you child we have so much to do
God god, mum where are you? He’s just done a poo!!

~Lily, with contributions from Spawn

Lily The Domestic Goddess. Who Doesn’t Love Maggot Cheese?

Whilst reading through some online recipes, I came across Paul Bocuse’s Poularde de Bresse truffee en vessie, which is essentially chicken with truffles, stuffed in a bladder. Now what or whose bladder is being stuffed I have no idea, or even what got Monsieur Bocuse’s so pissed off that he felt the need to insert a muscular organ with poultry and a type of fungi. What I do know is that cooking just got a whole lot more complicated. For some recipes, not only can the ingredients solely be sourced from countries such as Kazakhstan or Krungthepmahanakornamornratanakosinmahintarayutthayamahadilokph
opnopparatrajathaniburiromudomrajaniwesmahasatharnamornphimarnavatarnsathitsakkattiyavisanukamprasit,Thailand, but once you get your bountiful booty safely back home, you then need to take six weeks off work in order to prepare your starter.

It appears that nowadays, the average television viewer has become saturated by the deluge of cookery programmes currently being screened both here and in the US. Furthermore, a plethora of culinary chefs, including the likes of Heston Blumenthal, Gordon Ramsey and of course Bocuse himself, have made everyday cooking a thing of the past. With dishes that often contain such obscure items like Whale Phlegm, alongside programmes entitled “Hell, I ain’t eating it unless it has a face,” they have shown that you can make a veritable feast out of virtually anything…especially if you have either a cast iron stomach, a strong desire for death, or enjoy the taste of your own vomit.
So along with a few pictures of some culinary delights from around the world, I thought I’d invent a dish of my own. Bon Appetit.

Step One
For this particular recipe, you will need the breath of an extinct bird, preferable one from the lost city of Atlantis. Failing that, any extinct bird will do just as well.


They may look innocent enough, but these Chinese Offerings are called ‘Tong Zi Dan. (Virgin boy eggs) They’re not actually made of virgin boys, that would be absurd. No, they’re just boiled in the urine of school boys. Hungry yet?.

Step Two
First bake the breath of the extinct bird by performing the Macarena at regular intervals whilst standing in front of the oven. This will take approximately an hour and half, plus a further 3 years on a gas mark no higher than the sun.


Tuna eyeballs from Japan. Sorry, but I’m not eating anything that looks at me with that much contempt.

Step Three
To ensure that your bird breath is thoroughly cooked through, you must be sure to perform the Macarena whilst also doing the Hokey Pokey after about a year. This allows for that fine, crisp finish and golden glaze.


The Wichita Grub from Australia. Hmm, reminds me of an ex for some reason…

Step Four
Next, Serve on a bed of mashed potatoes. The potatoes must be the original spuds first brought to England by Sir Walter Raleigh and given as a present to Queen Elizabeth the first. In order to make sure that the potatoes are mashed to the right consistency, you must get them to recite the alphabet in the Lost Language Of The Cranes, whilst doing back-flips.

maggot cheese

This rather tasty looking dish from Italy, is called ‘Casu Marzu’ otherwise known as maggot cheese. Apparently the little critters can survive the gut and burrow into the intestines. Well it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything burrowing inside me, so I might just give it a go.

Step Five
Once the potatoes have finished reciting the alphabet, kiss them better whilst asking for forgiveness and smoke both the bird breath of extinction and the mash on a pile of wood-chip gathered from the wreckage of the Titanic.
Once the wood-chips are thoroughly ashamed of themselves, join both the bird breath of extinction and potatoes in holy matrimony and plate up.


Another dish from Japan. This one is called Shirako, which is just another way to say cod’s sperm sack. Apparently it’s very good for the skin…well that’s what my last boyfriend told me…

Step Six
Finally, serve with a lovely glass of Pinot Grigio which has been previously chilled, then passed through the bladder of a Yak, in order to bring out it’s full bodied flavour and enjoy.

Further recipes can be found in ‘Lily’s Big Book Of Further Recipes, That Come In The Form Of A Big Book And Which Contains Further Recipes.’ And the delightful ‘Two sprigs of lettuce and some Jus sauce does make a meal. An anorexic guide to culinary cooking,’ written by former model, Amma Bull Lemic.

Recipe plagiarised from myself in a post I wrote back in 2013