Summer Days (Tales of a Travelling Porridge)

It was a searing 19 degrees in Bristol – summer for the British. Singlets were donned, outdoor pubs brimmed with customers, our friends fired up the barbecue.

They’re a hardy lot, the British. As ours gallivanted around the sausages, scantily-clad, Mr Porridge Esq. began to shiver. The baby, being raised as hardy as his parents, was toughing it out and had no need for artificial warmth. His giraffe blanket was set to Mr Porridge Esq’s aid.

And so did Mr Porridge Esq cope with the British summer.

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2 responses to “Summer Days (Tales of a Travelling Porridge)

  1. Hope you didn’t burn it.

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