The Hell Jar (apologies to S Plath)

The only cute slug I could find.....

And the gift that never stops giving....refuses to stop giving. I still sound like a goose farting in the fog, and I am convinced that a past life transgression has condemned me to eternity with what feels like a pair of trained slugs living up my nose. Honk.

At least my sense of taste has sort of returned. The pickled chilli jar of hell was dipped into the other night - a very odd sensation - no feeling at all north of my collar, and then disaster broke loose south of the border. And as for the after effects, well, less said the better.

Anyway, better out than in. With the wedding approaching of Mr (and soon to be Mrs) Handy,I have to be snot-free and mellifluous. And capable of not soiling myself in front of a) the happy couple, b) a vicar, c) the congregation, d) God and e) anyone else who happens to be passing. Thankfully, I've kept the reading short and sweet. I share my poetry and words of love with you. Stand back in awe and wonder at me.

ALL HAIL THE HANDYS. PEACE OUT DAWG.