Of Coffee and Easter

If you were having coffee with me………
If you were having coffee with me I would say Happy Easter holidays how is/was your weekend going hope it is/was great.

Here have piping hot cuppa and I would offer you a plate of steaming hot cross buns, fresh from being nuked in the microwave; I hope you do not mind having microwaved food?
I ask this because I know people who prefer to eat cold food when they have a perfectly good microwave cause they are deathly afraid of radiation but funny enough they are constantly on their mobile phone with a Bluetooth headset and WiFi always on isn’t that ironic.

Don’t mind me, as I brush away a few ants crawling on the buns, (currently have va little ant problem) They are rather hardcore ants, considering they just walked out of a plate from the microwave (and that’s why cockroaches, scorpions and ants will be the only things left after a nuclear holocaust) Anyhoo as my mum always said ants are mostly harmless and they are tonic for the stomach, but I think she just said that to get us to not be fussy over a few ants in your food.

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if you went Easter Egg hunting. Curious things Easter eggs;
-Where do they come from? I mean what sort of creatures lay Easter eggs?  I would not mind having a pet that laid chocolate eggs, just saying.
-Does the  Easter Bunny lay them or is it some weird rainbow chickens that have clearly been nuked by some cosmic microwaves?
-And then the Easter bunny just does the collecting and hiding for the hunt?…

Having spent a long time at a Catholic boarding I have a confession to make. You know during the Eucharistic Feast of Holy Communion in celebration of the Last Supper the priest holds up a chalice of wine and says this is my blood, and then a wafer and says this is the body of Christ. I  used to have this crazy thought that what if he held up a bowl of noodles and said these are his intestines and some mashed potatoes and said these are his brains….  It’s a good thing these where innocent thoughts of youth otherwise I would have been struck by lightning during mass, yes?

If you were having coffee with me being a Christian I would say Amazing Grace, I owed a debt I could not pay and he paid a debt he did not owe Amen.
Compliments of the Easter season

P.S. My internet being slow so I could not upload images I found a picture of likely candidates to laying Easter eggs

Of A Feathery Affair

Genre: Comedychicken.jpg

He brushed off a feather from his once immaculate pinstripe suit, it was worse for wear, the suit not the feather, the feather was from a chicken that had decided to make a nest of his suit jacket, the chicken had taste, it was after all expensive tailor made apparel with a design too simple to be anything but expensive.

He was really in the dog house now, actually, technically it was the chicken coop. His girlfriend, had kicked him out over a slight Valentine’s day misunderstanding, she wanted to go out on a date, he forgot it was Valentine’s, she expected an expensive gift, he thought it was the thought that counted and besides he was broke, little things like that. He tried to tell her she was over-reacting and that maybe it was hormones and asked if she was on her monthlies, he probably shouldn’t have said that cause that was when she went ballistic. He begged she was relentless, definitely hormones.

Long story short she said he could sleep in the chicken run with her retired hens. She bought them at a discount from an egg farm and retired them one by one for dinner every other day. That was part of what had caused their misunderstanding, he had complained about eating chicken again saying that if he took another bite of chicken meat, feathers would sprout from his ears and he would start clucking, in hindsight it was not the wisest thing to gesture rudely at her with a chicken leg while saying so. She threw him out but kept the heart-shaped lollipop he brought her, that meant she loved him he knew it. All she needed was time and she would see that what he really needed was to simply take a bath, he was beginning to smell like chicken droppings that’s why she would not let him in the house but he could bath, he could change clothes if only he hadn’t let her start a huge bonfire with his clothes in the backyard, but the wrath of the woman had needed appeasing.

At least she fed him, well she said that she was feeding the chickens but who would give chickens a glass of warm milk and toast, probably the oat porridge was for the chickens it was lumpy and tasted horrible but the chickens seemed to love it. How did he know the chickens loved it? Well they scraped the bowl clean didn’t they or maybe after a week in the chicken run maybe he was going a little bit crazy how could one not get crazy with the incessant clucking and squawking  of the chickens not to mention they sometimes pecked at his fingers and toes which would seemed like big fat juicy worms to the hens.

Every morning he would plead with her, “How can I go job hunting looking like this? Can you at least  talk to my father tell him I gravely ill and he will give you money then we can split fifty-fifty

Talk to your father yourself!” she would retort as she shook her head and walked away.

Go away!” he yelled at someone who kept ringing the bell at the gate, he tried to ignore them till they started honking their horn making the chickens screech ever so irritatingly and for peace of mind finally went to find out what the racket was about. It was a motorcycle delivery man for a courier service.

“I have a package for one Mr Xinyori Mari”

“That’s me” he replied

“Please sign here Sir”

He reached into his pocket to get a pen and instead found an egg there, for half a second he had the absurd idea maybe he had laid an egg. He signed for the package with an X and inspected it, half suspecting it to be from his father but there was no addressee. He looked  up to ask who it was from but the motorcyclist was gone, funny he hadn’t heard him ride off or anything but he was gone, as if vanished,  it made the back of his neck crawl..

He ripped open the package and in it where flyers, the very same flyers he was suppose to distribute but had thrown away, there was a post it note with the following words neatly scrawled:

Deliver your part of our bargain  or The chickens will come home to roost

~The Doctor

The End

My #blogbattle entry this week themed feather

And so the tale continues ……….



Of A Needful Garden

Genre: Mystery/crime


The garden was coming along nicely. He found it therapeutic, to spend time pottering amidst the plants, although he cut a rather grim figure. Despite the midday sun, blazing, in all its fury, he wore a heavy robe, with the hood drawn up obscuring his features. He had a tiny garden fork he was using to weed the garden and turning over the soil it helped with aeration he had read in a Home & garden.

He paused to wipe sweat from his brow, using the sleeve of his robe, that’s when he became aware of the dog barking. The neighbour’s dog was always barking at people, though never at him, it tended to keep away from him (he had his suspicions that the dog was rabid but even then, it knew better than to trifle with him) and chasing random cyclists if the gate was not shut properly.

Once he had cornered the owner to tell him “Your dog has been chasing a guy with a bicycle” The man had the impunity to reply that “First of all the dog is called Danger, secondly Danger does not have a bicycle and thirdly, if Danger had a bicycle, obviously he  can’t ride lacking opposable thumbs and so forth.
The man was never seen again, soon after that, a new pod appeared in his garden. Which is why he was now paying attention to the barking dog, he was now its new owner of sorts, he had a curious habit, you see, of taking in strays and making them indebted to him.  He had even altered the sign at his gate to read,

The Doctor of Needful Things
Beware of Danger

Danger was barking at two young gentlemen standing by the gate. One of them was holding a rock evidently meaning to throw it the dog.
I would not recommend you do that” he said peering over the gate. The two men were startled, they hadn’t seen him coming, no-one ever did.
I.. er… am sorry, Sir, the gate has no bell and we tried shouting, I was simply going to bang the rock against the gate. Now that you are here could you spare us a few minutes of your__.”
He held up his hand quickly silencing the lad. He had heard enough to judge them to be sales men of sorts, it takes one to know one after all
Whatever you are selling, I do not need, neither do I have the disposable income__
Sir, we are not selling anything. We just want to__
Do not presume to interrupt me when I am talking, I was also going to add, all my bills are paid up, I even have a valid TV license,” then he cleared his throat and continued in a more reassuring tone “Now however if I can help you gentleman with anything. I would be happy to oblige what do you wish for.
The two gents looked at each other, then the other one, who had been silent throughout spoke up.
Sir we are your neighbour’s last living relatives and we have come to check up on him, we talk on the phone but he has missed several family dinners, he never used to do that and we were hoping if you had seen him lately”

Why didn’t you start with that, come in, come in, he has been doing a bit of growing, I’ll show you.
They followed him round the back, to the garden just like lambs.

Later, much later, after he had finished with the ridges of the two new mounds, the exact shape and size of the two gents, he watered the two new pods that had sprouted in his garden. People who needed things from him just like people who displeased him had a habit of winding up planted, in his backyard. He brushed dirt from his hands and nodded slowly to himself;
“This year, there will be a good harvest.”

~The End (for now)

My  #BlogBattle Entry this week  to celebrate one year anniversary….. an edited post from my archives


of coffee and egg rolls

 If you were having coffee with me….

If you were having coffee with me I would be pleased you joined me. We would sit in the kitchen, I would put the kettle on and say “I hope you like scrambled eggs. Please feel at home” and when you were nicely settled “tell me how have you been?
I would tell you how I have had downs and ups on the roller coaster ride that is the circle of life, we buried an uncle, a brother got married and a niece was born all in a short space of time, that is life for you, round and round it goes.

If you were having coffee with me I would share with you my secret recipe for making perfect scrambled eggs, but first I would show you how to make an egg roll
You need 1 egg.

Egg Roll.jpg
Step 1 place egg on flat surface
Step 2 push egg gently with you index finger….
Congratulations you have made an egg roll.
Do you hear a voice in the background saying don’t play with your food? Me neither we are not playing with food I was simply, erm…. lets just say illustrating how nothing ever is as at it seems.☺

Moving along on I was going to teach you how I make my scrambled eggs.
You need eggs, seasoning, tomatoes onions and any other stuff you fancy on an omelette.

Step 1 take the eggs that we were rolling and break them into a bowl then whisk together with the seasoning.
Step 2 pour the beaten eggs into a preheated pan (works best if it is a non-stick pan without any fancy Teflon coating)

Step 3 it should now look like you are making the perfect omelette, here comes the fun part now try to carefully flip the egg.egg1.jpg

Step 4 presto scrambled eggs


If you were having coffee with me I would confess that most times I try to make to make an omelette, I usually end up making scrambled eggs. Maybe I really should get me one of those fancy non-stick pans, in the meantime hope you enjoy your coffee and eggs.

of my hair

Genre: Contemporary  


I am not my hair. My hair is unruly, it grows wild, long and free. I am not my hair but my hair is a part of me.

My hair speaks volumes without me ever saying a word. Judging by the length of my hair, you can tell that I have not been arrested in a long time (they cut your hair when you go to jail, so I have been told) So by the length of my hair you can tell I am a law abiding citizen or maybe I am just really good at never being caught.

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My hair is the length it is, not by design, but simply because I stopped going to the barber every other week, curious to see how long it would go. It grew to become too difficult to comb out the kinks in my hair so I let it grow into locks.

I am not a Rastafarian but people call me Rasta. I walk in the street and random people stop me just to say “Hi Rasta” like we are old friends, we shake hands and they say  “Jah Bless” like we belong to some secret society. They tell me stories about how they are Rastas too, on the inside, even if their hair won’t grow to be like mine and sing that song by Morgan Heritage Family, you do not have to have dreadlocks to be Rasta.

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I am not my hair but less than half of half the people who think they know me would not recognize me if I cut my hair, how can they, when they hardly know my name they just call me Rasta.

Imagine a random person walking up to you and asking you if you can hook them up with a cigarette or asking for matches or simply passing you a blunt and walking away no other words spoken, that happens every other day to me. Sometimes I walk with matches because it is easier to just give someone a light then a lengthy explanation why you do have matches and they still walk away thinking you simply refused.

Some call me Dread because of hair. I read that one of the origins of the word Dread referring to Dreadlocks is that the hairstyle was thought to be dreadful. I have long since discovered that the term Dread is one of respect, Dread also means Fear of the Lord. The Fear of God is the beginning of all wisdom so I rather like this definition of Dread, there is nothing dreadful about it.

I am not my hair but people make assumptions about me from my hair some good some not so good, but I can tell you from my hair you can tell that I I can stick with things for a long time, I guess I am a keeper .

From when my hair was awkward like this…. When everyone kept asking me when I would cut it


to here


I am not my hair,

I am not this skin

I am not your expectations

I am a soul that lives within

~India Arie

What does your hair say about you?


My #BlogBattle entry themed Hair….

P.S. it is definitely shoulder length right??



of coffee, jam, butter and a salad


If you were having coffee with me, we would be enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A friend dared me to try it so here goes.

First of all I have no words to explain how I felt when I realised that a peanut butter sandwich was just basically…..BREAD spread with PEANUT BUTTER!!! No fancy stuff. So you can imagine how I am feeling now that I have discovered a PB & J also known as Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich is bread with one slice spread with peanut butter and the other with Jam!!! Plain regular Jam.

I love jam and I love peanut butter but I have always thought together they would taste awkward you see.So today I shall introduce my taste-buds to something new.


Step number 1 I spread half a slice with jam and another slice with jam. (so as not to waste bread if I did not like the combination)


Step number 2 I said a little prayer to the culinary Gods then I took a bite first from the jam side then from the butter side and chewed. Not bad at all I thought to myself


Step number 3 I finished spreading the bread, because well it’s a taste, I could get used to, I like it suddenly and I insist I take another bite.


Step number 4 I joined the two and made the sandwich complete then finished it. (see what I did there)


Thank you Nakku for challenging me to do the #ProjectPeanutButter&Jam that is one item struck off from my To-Do List yey, and one item added to my fave snacks.

If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you contrary to Betty’s tongue twister; Never add a bit of better butter to bitter butter to make the bitter better because you will end up with more of the not so good bitter butter since you make the better bitter.. simply throw away the bitter butter enjoy fresh butter . . . . you are welcome.

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you that since we name a sandwich after whatever is on the middle why do we never speak of margarine sandwiches, even air sandwiches if there is nothing in between the bread, or what if you stack 3 slices of bread together is that a bread sandwich?

And better yet, if two people on opposite sides of the world drop slices of bread at exactly the same time, for a little while is that an Earth Sandwich with everyone on it??!!! The things that keep me up at night.

If you were having coffee with me, I would share with you a secret, I want to be uncommon and sophisticated, I walk around with the pretentious airs that I am marmalade jam,  even though I am really orange jelly and all I want to do is bounce bounce bounce……

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I guess if you can be anything be the best version of it, like why insist on being a plain boiled cabbage when you can be,  A salad dressed in rich mayo, freshly garnished and tossed on a bed of salad……

~Step out of the ordinary~

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