Famished – Anna Vaught

Did you know that King John fined the City of Gloucester about £250,000 in our modern money for failing to deliver the annual gift of a lamprey pie to him at Christmas? That poor watery city has been stuck with delivering a royal pie every Christmas until 1836, and since then for coronations and jubilees. They even have to employ a special person, The Procurer of the Lamprey (he has a chain less resplendent than the mayor’s), because the scarcity of lampreys in our British Isles has meant that these pies are made from specimens from North America.

Oh, why don’t they just go down the Cleddau River in Pembrokeshire, where the lampreys are big and loud and strong? Or dig into Henry’s chitterlings for some fine exemplifications? Still, poor Henry. There was one thing he didn’t know about lampreys (and, in fact, I cannot help but wonder whether King Henry went the same way and that the reason for his choleric was that he had lampreys hanging on inside until his demise).

You see, a man may enjoy a surfeit of anything. A surfeit of lampreys. But, sometimes, lampreys like a surfeit of man. OceanofPDF.com hot cross buns, sharp teeth and a tongue ‘I am cross,’ said Old Ted, ‘about the buns. It isn’t fair. At my time of life and with everything that’s happened to me and I feel like crying. I do, and it’s not just the buns, is it?’ So Penelope, just someone who talked to cross Old Ted, started to have conversations in the street and on the bus with older folk about how they objected to the ubiquity of hot cross buns.

It was the ubiquity, this survey of elderly folk revealed, which had spoiled them. Same with bread and the cheese, spoiled by the bounty of mass production, the same but worse, because the buns were special. They were annual. Then, it would have been like Christmas cake in July. But not now. Penelope hadn’t intended to spend so much time with the olds, who chattered like parakeets, but was drawn in. Their teeth sometimes offended her sensibilities, but she cloaked herself in kindness and went on with the survey.

‘I bet you get Christmas cake in July these days and I can’t bear it,’ said cross Old Ted on the bus, another day. ‘Once, they appeared at Easter or you made them. You did not get them all year round and, though memory may not ratify here, apparently, they did not used to be so doughy and squashy.

what he choked on seaside rock and other homicides a tale of tripe nanny lovett and pop todd henry and his surfeit of lampreys hot cross buns, sharp teeth and a tongue shame cucumber sandwiches shadow babies’ supper the choracle jar and the girl sherbet bread and salt trimalchio jones sweetie notes on the text acknowledgements about the author About the Publisher Copyright OceanofPDF.com cave venus et stellas ‘Were the succession of stars endless, then the background of the sky would present us a uniform luminosity.’

Edgar Allan Poe, Eureka It is a strange place; a cold street, in which the temperature seems to drop as you round the corner. You feel the breeze cut into you; sometimes you think you must have imagined it, but no: there it is again. A street that looks the same as the last but also inescapably, irresistibly different.

The young man, lean and callow, has been called upon to work for the shadowy residents of this street. There, every day, post is delivered, collected from doormats, papers from drives and houses and gardens that are maintained in pristine condition. And yet, we see no one, telling ourselves only that the street’s inhabitants must keep rather bohemian hours. So, the young man, a fine carpenter it is said, is called to the fifth house on the street, a high house like all the others, with imposing gables and a tall, tall chimney stack.

He rings the bell and a lady answers, ivory and willowy, with intense blue eyes. She sees him start just a little, as one does when confronted with flagrant beauty. ‘Won’t you come in? So much to do.’ All the time she sips from a little cup. Sip, sip. He averts his eyes from her cherry lips. Inside the house, it is a world away from the modern suburban street, all billowing drapes, commodious cabinets of dainty phials and bottles, Venetian mirrors and candelabra.

And little cups; so many little cups on narrow shelves. Like the one she carries: sip, sip. With fluted saucers, Japanese and Chinese designs, lacquer work. His eye is drawn everywhere all at once and she senses this. ‘Yes: I am quite a collector, as you see.’ ‘Well, I’m wondering, Miss – is it Miss?

– which jobs you need doing?’ ‘Ah, yes, but first, won’t you have some tea? Come through. And you may use my first name: Stella. Oh, beware of the step there. The step down. Beware, won’t you?’

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 7158382014ccfa4b
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,030,257 bytes (0.983 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9781910312476, 9781910312438, 9781910312124, 9781910312490, 9781910312506
• Pages: 75
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 109.88 minutes
• Total Words: 21,975
• Total Characters: 121,702
• Average Words per Page: 293.0
• Average Characters per Page: 1622.69

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