I have just been awarded a blog award, one which necessitates me writing seven little known things about myself. And there was me, puzzling as to what I was going to write about this week. God works in wonderful ways.
And so does: DRC
I loved the taste of uncooked liver as a child, right up to my early twenties when I discovered the possibility of flukes. I still love the memory of fresh liver, its raw tang and cold, slippery texture as you bite into it. I may be the reincarnation of a 'Rottie' or perhaps a 'Labradoodle'.
I sit in the dark for an hour at least every morning, and consume three very large mugs of strong tea. The consequence is that I have to go the toilet quite often throughout the morning, but this is a good thing because it forces me from the computer and offers something in the way of exercise.
I swim 90 lengths a week in the Leisure Centre, but only breast stroke or backstroke. My crawl is more akin to a hyper-active crab. It has always been so. As a child it may have been quite endearing. Now I’m a danger to children and old women.
As a paper boy I used to be a prodigious whistler. Old men who should have known better would congratulate me on my whistle. Said it was better than any alarm clock. This whistle has now gone, a sad case of use it or lose it.
I once chewed on a piece of cat fur at an Indian restaurant in Swansea. It may have been squirrel or dog but my stomach allowed little time to analyse the situation.
I struggle to be generous. I’m improving, slightly, with age.
My favourite ‘fast’ food is beans on toast but with two provisos. Lashings of black pepper; and the toast has to be doused liberally with extra virgin olive oil, preferably from Palestine or Greece. On the tongue it tastes of smoked fruit and earth – even better than raw liver.
And a bonus one. I don't always follow things through.