What is French for scrum? Ask Teenwolf.

Oh dear he has started reading this - about him!

Well he’s only gone and done it. The one who I accuse of doing nothing and a lot of it has gone off and started his own blog. Well he has bagged up a page whether or not he actually gets round to doing anything is another thing altogether.

Not only that but he has started reading the book I wrote about him — The Nappy Years. Oh dear. This is going to blow a few myths out of the water. So distraction techniques are on the cards.

Shall I provoke a reaction?
Well breathing seems to do that to be honest. So how about this.


Lying on the dining table I found his usual pile of paper, books, files, CD’s, scraps of paper, pens etc. and there on top was a piece of paper with the title French Essay. Good on him I thought as I shoved everything into a heap to liberate one end of the table. And then I took a closer look.

Then at the bottom of the essay I saw this….(you may need to double click to see this clearly).

I rest my case....or ma valise


Yes, the staring at the paper he had been doing was nothing to do with French – he was studying this – a rugby move. The priority above all. The most important thing in the world. Apparently.

Now let’s see if he answers back.


Well he will if he puts down that damn book.

Where do you take a sick horse? Horsepital or the local restaurant?

You just couldn't could you?

The talk of the steamie last weekend in Edinburgh was that L’Escargot Bleu in Edinburgh’s Broughton Street are going to start serving horse and no I don’t mean inviting the odd horse to pull up a chair, enjoy an aperetif and a canape.
No Edinburgh’s most authentic French Restaurant is testing the boundaries of the Scots palate and introducing horse  to their menu. The gauntlet is down, well how do you carve horse with your gauntlets on? And rather than tuck it away in a stew or serve it as a steak the proprietor has plumped for the rather radical sounding horse tartare.

Definition of Tartare: a dish of coursely ground or finely chopped high quality raw lean horse that has been seasoned with salt, capers, onions and the tears of every pre-pubescent girl in Scotland (and my Auntie Joyce)

Raw horse. God the thought of taking your kids to pony club developing a long and loving relationship with a beast then when the going gets tough, or before it’s flanks get too tough, hell just shoot it and eat it just seems so wrong.

He's obviously heard the news

The arguments are valid. I eat cow. I eat pig. I eat lamb – aka baby sheep. It’s all true which is why I can’t quite understand the revulsion I feel that Dobbin local horse with long eyelashes, swishy tale and a personality is coming to a plate near me. Black Beauty, Thelwell, National Velvet they are icons of childhood and affection. I can’t recall one story in which a cow or sheep took a leading role. Babe was of course a world wide pig star and for some reason, despite the fact pigs are generally credited with being  more intelligent than dogs, I have no qualms about slapping them between to bits of bread and having them for breakfast. I know where this going. I am of course a hypocrite.

Def. of hypocrite:a person who pretends to have virtues, moral or religious beliefs, principles, etc., that he or she does not actually possess, esp. a person whose actions belie stated beliefs.

Yup. Guilty as charged as this picture below illustrates. Fed it, cuddled it, gave it a name. Ate it. Och well. Damn it tasted good though.

Pal Jennys pig. Now in the freezer. Bless.