ass won't even fit in my oven
Life in Somerset is bizarre.
Everyone has guns chilling on their kitchen counters or in their car boots and dead animals hanging from their porches. I feel like I'm in a bad western with cider you can literally chew instead of bourbon and wellington boots in lieu of cowboy hats.
I have never headbutted so many unwitting carcasses in my life. People keep giving me dead stuff as 'gifts' and I keep wondering what the hell I've done to offend them.
You know how cats bring you dead shit like voles and rabbits and it's supposed to show their devotion to you but really all that happens is you chase a half dead bird around your living room for an hour? (true story)
It's like that, but with people bringing me geese and game. What on earth am I supposed to do with a freaking goose whose ass won't even fit in my oven?
I didn't even know you could eat goose.
One guy asked me to run his dog for him - I run a lot - and gave me a knife in case his dog took out a badger...
a) what on earth am I going to do with a folding hunting knife? I can barely use cutlery at the dinner table.
b) what fucking dog takes out a badger?!
crazy shit out here.
