Bacon

“I can’t talk for long I’ve got a wobbly brolly and there’s a terrible smell of burning.” “Are you having a stroke Mother?”
“No of course not! I'm in the yard, it's blowing a force ten gale out here and I think the Jones twins might have put a tractor tire on Michael's bonfire yesterday.”
“If it is blowing a force ten gale why are you outside? Are you sure you aren't having some kind of age related episode?"
"Oh for goodness sake, don't get your hopes up I am not dying yet."
"I don't want you to die, but a bit of senility would be nice, so I can pop you in a facility in the home counties and I won't have to make the three day camel ride up to visit you bi-monthly."
"Have I ever told you what a horrible child you are? You don't have to come up at all, and anyway if you weren't scared of flying it wouldn't be such a trek. I'd be more afraid of the M1 than falling out of the sky."
"I can't afford the therapy bill should you perish alone up there and end up half eaten by the damn chickens. Anyway whose fault is it I am afraid of flying?"
"Your father's, God rest the miserable old bastards soul, assuming he actually had one."
"Seconded, anyway what do you want?"
"Oh buggered if I can remember now, hey perhaps your wishes are coming true."
"Oh don't start that, I have enough guilt. Shouldn't you see to that bonfire if it is still burning in this weather?"
"Oh that's it, Michael is going on holiday! It's quite a long break, I'm sure I'll manage, but if you wanted to postpone you visit next month you could come up while he is away, you know just in case."
"That could've waited you know."
"Not at my age, things slip the mind before the thought has formed sometimes."
"Yes, yes fine, I'll look into it and let you know. Now will you just be careful."
"Fine, fine......oh shit my brolly. Got to fly darling" Click.
"Possibly literally."
Molly didn't hear Maggie's parting words, she was too busy trying to keep her balance as she chased the wayward umbrella across the hard standing, trying to catch it before it ended up in the pig pen. If they got hold of it, she'd never get it back, instead in all likelihood she'd end up with an almighty vet bill she didn't need. She kept 8 pigs and everyone one of them was a beast of an animal, they really would eat anything, she knew she'd tested the theory.
Fortunately the brolly stopped, snagged on the fence, and she got to it just before Denver, the boar.
She scratched behind his ears and he snuffled in delight. They were lovely animals, although there was definitely something, different, about the personality of the drove of late.
She folded the useless brolly up and shoved it into the depths of her Barbour pocket. The rain was coming down side ways now. Molly was sure it shouldn't be possibly for her to get any wetter, but never-the-less the rain seemed to be finding spots it hadn't yet seeped into making her shiver at it's cold touch. The bonfire was still smouldering and now she was closer there was definitely a reek of burning rubber in the air. She was about to turn back, there was nothing she could do about it on her own in this weather. Something stopped her though, there was another smell lingering along side the clawing, heaviness of the smouldering tyre, something unexpected. She advanced on the bonfire trying to place the familiarity of the greasy, sweet odour. The tyre had been thrown on haphazardly and was leaning towards her as if wanting to display its contents to her. She gasped. The body was charred, but recognisable, it was Davey's eldest son Bill. An arrogant self righteous youth, about whom some nasty rumours had been circling. Clearly someone believed they were true.
Molly turned and made her way back to the farm house. She wasn't concerned about the body, she would deal with that easily enough, it was a blessing in disguise in some ways. As she peeled of her wet layers and set about making the tea, the thought playing on her mind was who knew that a body dumped on the Sampson farm wouldn't cause a problem one way or another.

Cake induced nonsense (It isn't even cake)

Oh god I am so full! What is wrong with me? I can't just see food pass me by. Damn that Bakewell tart was good though. The problem now is I am so full all I can think is cake. I am going to die of cake overdose.

What do you think would happen if a human brain spintaneously turned into a Victoria Sponge. I assume that wouldn't end well for the induvidual concered.

This is akin to really needing a wee. I cannot construct a thought that goes more than about 10 seconds past the stage of inception without bursting into a cake bubble. We may yet find out the answer to the hither to unanswered question of what happens when a human brain spontaneously morphs into cake.

Morphs, that reminds me, morph suits. What the chuffin' mountain lions is that sponge caking about? (sorry cake brain fart there, but I think we are getting through the cake enduced semi-coma) Honestly, human men what are morph suits about. Do you secretly all wish to run around wearing lycra so that we get a good view of exactly what your junk looks like, but just in case we point and laugh you hide your faces and your blush. You are all very very strange.

I think I might take my cake face to bed.