Saving Old Seagulls

Can't believe it.

The bloody oven has died. Kaput. Barely warm. Turkey the size of a Pterodactyl sitting waiting for the Big Day.

We're doomed, I tell you. Doomed

Turkey?
In my day we did 26 hours at t mill,walked 50 miles home thro drivin blizzards.
Dinner was pork drippin heated over candle,then to bed in a paper bag.
Some folks dont know they is born.
Bah humbug.

Is that for a gallon or liter ?
62 Pence in stirling.
I pay 68 Pence per liter for Marine diesel fuel.
Ray

Winter Night shore fishing near Blackpool we warmed pies up on the top of tilly lamps . May not work on a turkey.

big turkey---too small oven---i was sent to the village hall to cook it-----good luck blue

Crisis possibly averted - The nice Gentleman from Stoves has promised to attend tomorrow with a van full of spares and he will fix the offending appliance.

For a trifling consideration, of course. So trifling that the Natinal Debt pales by comparison. But hey ho that's Christmas. Now all I have to do is separate all those that have fallen out with each other over nothing at all (all female, of course), and start my Christmas shopping on the 24th as tradition dictates.

The snow has virtually disappeared down here, and my stock of wine, beer and malt scotch is healthy. A good outlook.

Have a good one, folks

Bruce that's half of the cost here, & remember your dollar is the strongest it's ever been.

We're at record fuel prices & due for a tax increase in Jan, & please remember it's the Pom's that winge!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs Cratchit left the room alone-too nervous to bear witnesses-to take the pudding up and bring it in. Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose-a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs Cratchit entered-flushed, but smiling proudly-with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

'A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!'

Which all the family re-echoed.

'God bless us every one!' said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

--from Charles Dickens 'Christmas Carol" of course... and after all these years...( I'll be 60 this new year )... still can't read this passage without getting choked up. Merry Christmas to us all -- Joe in Pittsburgh

Yes, well.....

Downunder we have a pit fire and wrap the bush turkey in mud/clay after pulling it's innerds out and after the fire has died down a tad put the bird in the embers and throw some dirt on top. After about a dozen tinnies she would be cooked. Just crack it open and the feathers stick to the mud/clay. Catching the little buggers is the hard bit...

Have fun

Hugo.

Used to cook the hedgehog the same way, good old-fashioned British cooking, Nettle pudding, roast hedgehog and fish-gut sauce on the side, Those Were the Days.

Catch the turkeys is the easy bit. they often roost on fences. So find the roosting place and go back at night. One person behind them with a pair of hedge clippers and one in front with a torch. Shine the torch in their eyes and they will raise their head and presto