Tales of nonsense and items of little interest, sometimes true, always poorly thought through. Less sophisticated than most newspapers and magazines.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Big Black Puddin's

No, not Ainsley Harriot or Frank Bruno. Sausages, big black lardy ones. You never forget your first.
Homophobes and racists, be not afraid and read on because I'm not talkin' about jiggaboos' nobs, I'm talkin' about these:

By eck Missus! Look at the girth on this un!

Black Puddin's or Blood Sausages as the PC Americanos call em are a particularly horrid local "delicacy" in many parts of the world. They are known by many a name, in Taiwan they are known as "pig blood cake", in the Philippines "chocolate meat". The Igbo peoples of Nigeria refer to them as "dicks of the enemy" because they closely resemble another local delicacy, "dicks of the enemy". There are probably not many places however where they are more popular than Lancashire, where I grew up. Now, I am a proud Lancastrian and a proud Brit, but if you asked me to prove my loyalty by eating one of these monstrosities, I would have to refuse and become a reclusive hermit in the Ozarks because there is no fuckin way.

Wherever you are in this big old wonderful diverse world of ours, you are almost certain to find them, and despite the many names, they have two things in common. They are made with animal blood and lard and they taste like fucken shite. You never forget your first black puddin'. I know I won't. Let me tell you about it....

I was a lad of roughly 7 years and I was in the Cubs, not the baseball team but the Cub Scouts, innocent playthings of pedo's everywhere (not me though as far as I can recall). There was nothing good about being in the Cubs as far as I was concerned, all it did was put me in a daft uniform and keep me out of trouble one night a week. I had no interest in being kept out of trouble and I didn't care for the uniform. Mine was all second hand and too small, the shorts in particular were restrictive and to this day I maintain that they are responsible for the size of my dick. I'm not saying I don't have a baby's arm down there because for all you lot know, I do. What I am saying is that if those shorts had fitted right, I could have been a much wealthier man than I am today.

I'm digressing a bit here, all this about the cubs is another post entirely.... Anyroad, as I was saying. I was in the Cubs and to get to the Church Hall, I had to get the bus because we didn't have a car. I would go to meet my Grandad at work, go back to their house, then go to Cubs and my Grandad would take me home afterwards. So, this one time, I get the bus and meet my Grandad at work. First thing he says to me is, "Hast had owt fot eyt?". "Nay Grandad" I says, "Ahm clemmed dearth". "Reet" he says, "Ah thot tha wud be, so ah saved thi a butty". "Smashin', ta Grandad" I says gratefully. He reaches into his bag and hands me a warm, limp sandwich, "Gerrit deawn thi cakehole" he says. "Wot's this brown stuff on it?" I asked. "Ne'er mind, shurrup askin questyuns an eyt it....."

I knew that whatever the brown stuff was, it was gonna be nasty but my Grandad although kindly, was a right quick tempered old bugger and I didn't want to piss him off so I gingerly took a bite. It was FUCKIN' DISGUSTING. I almost threw my ring up but I couldn't let him see me not eat it, he had sacrificed his dinner for me. Actually, I don't think he sacrificed the dinner, he sacrificed me cause if he had gone home with the fucker in his lunch box my Grandma would have given him earache. With a tear rolling down my cheek I ate the filth as quick as I could. I was quiet as a mouse in the car, "Wot's up wi' thee?". "Nowt Grandad, ahm alreet", I lied. When we got to their house I ran upstairs and threw up in the bog. It looked and smelled terrible. I vowed to myself to never again eat black puddin' and to this day, I never have and never will.

So, it's a shite story really but I didn't post anything yesterday, too tired. Been busy all day today and this was the best I could muster. I should have just fired up the "Knudsen's Patented Random Shite Generator" and made summat up but I am out of coal and couldn't be arsed getting imaginative. I need a break and possibly a massage.....

4 comments:

HKMGB said...

I spent a year living in Garstang and I never saw anything looking as bad as that. (The sausages that is, not the fat bird.)

I wouldn't put either of them in my mouth. You poor bastard.

Fresh Hell said...

My grandfather gave me my first dose of "morsea" (Mexican for blood pudding) as well. Mexicans must be much handier in the kitchen because it is d-i-v-i-n-e!!

Old Knudsen said...

There is nothing random about my shite, I'll give ya something to choke on, haggis anyone?

Eddie Waring said...

Lambent - Garstang is a puritan village, they outlaw anything that reminds them of sex, especially if they are black.
Fresh Hell - I have a new found respect and disgust for you.
Old K - Your shite is random just like the formation of a golden nugget....of shite.