You know it’s going to be a bad day when it starts out with discovering the source of a VERY bad smell in the kitchen…especially when that source turns out to be the leftover remains of a roast chicken you inexplicably forgot about inside the oven TWO DAYS ago!
I’m SO embarrassed to admit this, but then again I’m sure I’m not the only person on earth to have forgotten about something that’s been safely stashed inside the oven to prevent the CAT from getting to it while you’re eating dinner.
Coupled with the fact that it was someone else’s turn to do the washing up that particular roast chicken night, and I’ve been mentally handicapped through lack of sleep lately…….
Hey, I’m human, not necessarily a GROT.
So this morning as I prepared to get ready to leave the house at some insane hour to go to a market to sell our candles, it suddenly dawned on me that beyond the beautifully sweet smell of mango’s sitting on the bench that the vaguely unpleasant smell I “thought” I caught a whiff of yesterday, was now a pretty awful smell that could just not be ignored ANY longer.
And then the….”Have you checked the chicken?” thought went through my head.
I made my husband handle the “situation” because I was afraid of what the chicken looked like, two days later.
It wasn’t pretty, but apparently only the smell had reached nightmarish status.
All is well now on the chicken front.
I will be sure, in future, to DOUBLE check the chicken.
As if that wasn’t stomach turning enough…On our drive to get to the market the road was littered with evidence of the previous night’s truckers having driven this route.
I’ve never seen such mangled kangaroo corpses before, and believe me I’ve seen a lot of road kill in our travels. (Those outback road trains are not kind.)
This morning’s tally was literally smeared across the road, unrecognizable as having once been in any sort of Skippy like shape.
Gigantic lumps of pet food on the highway, best described it.
After passing one such “ Chum” looking lump, (“so meaty you could carve it!”) we had driven at least another 200 metres before I saw what I’m positive was an intact Kangaroo LIVER lying on the road.
My mind could just picture this liver sticking to the underneath of the truck by the force of the vehicles speed or the livers juiciness, until finally the disembodied (literally) organ peeled itself free and with a SMACK, came to rest upon the tarmac.
Really gross visual hey. I’m glad I was able to do that for you.
I hope you were eating something really delicious…and meaty.
Actually, there’s something about road kill that draws me to it. Something, almost arty about it.
In fact I have mentioned this many times while on our trips.
It”speaks to me”.
I’ve even taken photographs of certain dead things because they spoke to me in a way which I couldn’t ignore.
The bleached white skeletal remains of a kangaroo, perfectly laid out against that red red dirt is ARTY -to my mind anyway.
I’m not talking about the really maggoty stuff. Stuff that actually moves around in all it’s dead-ness. THAT is really disgusting and give me the heebie jeebies.
But some dead things emanate a sense of tragedy . Tragic is a good word.
Tragic and final.
A coffee table photographic book of road kill called “Tragic art” is a darn good idea.
It’s a shame it’s already been done.
Anyway, so that’s how my day started, kind of tragically…
Didn’t get much better either because we had an absolutely DISMAL candle sales day at this particular market.
No people – no sales. No people because it was stinking bloody hot!
I’m sure everybody in Australia was at the beach today, not like us – sitting in some Godforsaken lane way under gazebo’s sweating like pigs.
It was hot and I complained …
“I feel like I’m in an oven!”
Then the wind picked up and I complained more..
“I feel like I’m in a fan forced oven!”
(Seemed to be my theme for the day.)
We ate icecreams and samosa’s and had bored conversations that went like this…
My husband. “I hate when you can smell your own nose.”
Me. “Your boogers you mean?”
Me “Better than smelling someone else’s boogers I suppose.”
For some reason the man next to us who sells mainly men’s belts and cowboy hats was selling LOADS of these plastic green balls. Kind of textured soft balls. Everyone kept picking his balls up and squeezing them and then would buy them. Loads of them.
I felt like saying to him “Your balls are popular today!” but I don’t know the man that well and it might have sounded inappropriate.
Too hot for candles, but not too hot for squeezy textured balls.
I don’t understand it.
And on that thoughtful note, I will end todays ramble.
PS – Have you checked YOUR chicken?