Looking at that cheap pizza, I would eat most of it except the cake-sized circumference which would go straight in the bin ...or left out for the birds
Looking at that cheap pizza, I would eat most of it except the cake-sized circumference which would go straight in the bin ...or left out for the birds
10 characters? Pile of cund.
bb "Claws on toast "
Sounds like a mild bush-tucker trial delicacy
10 characters? Pile of cund.
There's no faulting that logic
10 characters? Pile of cund.
Ah. I'm not sure you have entirely appreciated that my current prediliction is for novels in which nothing much happens, really. I like legthy descriptions of the exact colour of the sea, a lot of wistful peering out of rain-spattered windows and the unspoken hint of a stolen kiss.
I remember reading on the blurb that our hero had returned from the Peninsular 'carrying with him a terrible secret'; I am afraid I took this rather literally and spent ages trying to work out which of the items unpacked from his rucksack by Nell contained the 'terrible secret'. For much of the book i was therefore expecting the small shrivelled potato to reappear and reveal its secret within.
I've got a new one for you: 'The Glass Woman' by Caroline Lea. 17th century Iceland. Precisely nothing happens.