Christmas pudding oor Kornies
Christmas pudding
en
A rich dessert traditional eaten at Christmas, made from dried fruit and nuts.
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Christmas pudding
Yma dhedha dew vab hag unn vyrgh.langbot langbot
Christmas pudding
Nyns yw da genev an gewer ma.langbot langbot
Christmas Pudding
Res yw dhis gweres dha vamm.langbot langbot
Christmas pudding
Nowydh o an lyver.langbot langbot
“Anyhow,” I thought, “maybe now would be a convenient time to utilise those small, tubular containers of ‘green vegetable matter’ that I had located in the Rowden White Gallery. I could do with a good laugh – and my own ‘attack of the munchies’. Hmm. Perhaps I had better open a tinned Christmas pudding first. Those can-openers can be tricky when one is, all of a sudden, pressed for something munchy.”
Yma tri hi dhymm.langbot langbot
I thought I understood what was going on. So, I addressed my next question to Paul: “Has His Royal Majesty taken the recent Roundhead advances very badly?” Paul smiled with relief. I had indeed understood what was going on. “His Royal Majesty is much affronted by the advance of the Parliamentarian army into his sovereign territory. He prays they all depart immediately.” “My dear Oliver,” interrupted Charles. “Surely you can do something about this business. You are, after all, titular head of the Parliamentarian forces. Surely you can recall those accursed Roundheads. And, if not you, what about General David? Surely you could do that for your Sovereign Lord.” Charles, it seemed, was now living in the era of the English Civil War of the 1640’s. This had been his fantasy playground from the first day I had met him. Now he had retreated there completely – for reasons that were not hard to guess at, given his recent traumatic experiences. “Well, Your Majesty, I’ll see what I can do. Shall we discuss it during High Tea – I have some fine provisions we might share while we discuss the formal terms of the disengagement.” I raised my backpack – filled with tinned ham and Christmas puddings. Paul’s face filled with joy – evidently, he and Charles had also been starving. “A fine proposal, Good Sir,” responded Charles. “Paul, lay out our finest tableware.” “Certainly, my Liege,” simpered Paul. Charles had always, in my experience, spoken in an exaggerated upper-class English accent. Indeed, I had assumed he was English at first. In fact, he was 6th generation Australian and had been educated in a Catholic boys’ school where the Brothers had, apparently, not known how to cope with their first openly and flamboyantly gay pupil. Curiously, for this era at least, he was much beloved by his fellow students – to the point where he was made the mascot for the school’s senior football team. (Charles, being short of stature, was definitely no athlete and the ‘position’ of mascot had, reportedly, suited him just fine.)
Nowydh yw an lyver ma.langbot langbot
Just down the road, the University Café (not as popular as Tamani’s) was in better shape and so I cheerfully got into their cupboards and fridge to stock up on essential items. I took mainly stuff that was in tins and cans so that it would last. They had a stock of tinned hams and plum puddings, apparently left over from Christmas. Fine by me – so I took as many as I could carry in the back- pack I retrieved along the way. (Don’t ask me who was wearing it at the time – they weren’t going to need it again, I promise you.) I tried to encourage David to share the load with me – I even found another back-pack for him. But he was having none of it. Apparently, zombies don’t do the beast-of-burden thing. (A fact well worth remembering, I’m sure.) In any event, David was getting twitchy again. At first, I thought it must have been hunger (oh no!) but he was just bored. I offered him an apple that I had just swiped from the University Café. He snatched at it and threw it away in disgust. (What had I been thinking? Fruit? For a zombie?) So, I selected another from a nearby basket and bit into it. It wasn’t that fresh – it had been sitting around for over a week – but it was okay (and, unlike the pancakes, it didn’t make me throw up.) How to avoid going back to Union House – that was the pressing problem. Where would any self-respecting zombie prefer to go – other than a charnel house full of zombies (and one psychopathic cat)? Then it struck me: “Hey, Dave! Wanna go to the cemetery? You know, the big one that’s just near here?” He stopped twitching. That was a good sign. But did he know what I was talking about? Possibly, he did. Zombie intelligence is not an easy thing to understand – and, in David’s case, it was complicated by the fact (as I knew) that he could tap into my own mind to boost whatever wit he had been left with following his death. I was like a poorly connected hard-drive, I suppose (though hard-drives, external or otherwise, were unheard of at that time).
Res yw dhymm dyski.langbot langbot
7 sinne gevind in 4 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.