Out Now!

Saturday, 12 November 2016

The burnt pan refurbished

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

The same applies to pans


Maria Zannini said...

Boy, do I have a job for you when you come visit me. LOL!

I'll trade you pitting damsons for scrubbing pans.

Good job! You've elevated yourself to "keeper husband".

Mike Keyton said...

You've heard of horse whisperers . . . Just call me 'The pan-handler' —said low and hoarse :)