Sir Rob and Lady Patsy of Crabbe Lane, Appleton

Celebrate 25 Years.

Huzzah!

7 Responses to “Sir Rob and Lady Patsy of Crabbe Lane, Appleton”

1. Rob says:

   May 10, 2006 at 7:31 am

   Thanks, ths. We’ll get the hang of it sooner or later. 🙂

2. tree hugging sister says:

   May 10, 2006 at 7:44 am

   You’re welcome! I’d hand out jelly donuts, but you took the last one, so a loaded caramel apple will have to do .
   You’ve got us by a year. Damn! {8^P

3. Cullen says:

   May 10, 2006 at 8:12 am

   Is that what that is? Looks like a heap of chocolate covered barbecue beans. Which made me wonder what exactly you were trying to say to Rob.
   So, I’ll just say Happy Anniversay to Rob and his better half.

4. tree hugging sister says:

   May 10, 2006 at 9:21 am

   Oh, you are SUCH a poophead ~ of COURSE it’s an APPLE. BEANS? BEANS?!!

5. John says:

   May 10, 2006 at 11:25 am

   We know you’ve been to Japan, THS. You might have picked up their sweet bean desert fetish.
   I just know you have a secret stash of mochi somewhere in your house ;-).

6. Nightfly says:

   May 10, 2006 at 1:15 pm

   Cullen can be excused, the “apple” has a number of small red bumps attached to it. Is that a chili-and-chocolate concoction?

7. tree hugging sister says:

   May 10, 2006 at 1:44 pm

   OY!
   Gack, John! That was one of the worst surprises EVER. Biking through Miyajima, seduced by the sweet aroma of some maple leaf shaped cookie thingee baking/rolling along conveyor belts by the thousands in shops all over the island. Oh, God, the smell of it! Like a naughty siren’s hand reaching a finger out under your chin and coaxing you gently in. I couldn’t take it anymore. I charge in a shop and do I buy one? Like I should have? Knowing what I know about Japanese cuilinary subterfuge? No. Nyet. Non.
   I buy a whole freakin’ box of them and pedal my way back to Iwakuni (which is one hell of a pedal) with it jealously guarded in my bike basket. Got home, cleaned up and took it down to the E-Club for all to share in the bounty. The box lid came off, the perfume entranced, perfect maple leaves beckoned and we all took a huge, simultaneous chomp. And just as quickly did some choreographed spitting into our beer mugs, followed by fervent cries of

   “Dear God, what IS that shit?!”