Readers, we had a lucky escape.
On the top of Piz Trovat stands this:
As you can tell, it is a potential hermitage, the perfect size for our beloved Herr Porridge. He is, as you know, something of a cosmopolitan but he does not eschew solitude. He loves the mountains and this view across the snow may have been enough to lure him from us. Continue reading
Feeling a tad Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary-ish, The Right Honourable Porridge casts a commanding flake over the valley from the pinnacle of his hike from Bergun, Switzerland.
With no regard for his own safety, and ever the unassuming hero, Burgomaster Porridge places his flap in a dike in Holland.
(Actually, he’s not bizarre. I just like the letter Z.)
The royal carpenters were no doubt aware of Tzar Porridge’s reputation and made a throne to fit their expectations.
Word is that St Basil was the only person to whom Ivan the Terrible would listen. St Porridge is familiar with that situation. After a heavy schedule of talks at the Kremlin, he spent some time communing with the earthly representation of his departed friend on the Red Square.
Poised on a precipice at the Joch Pass, Switzerland, Abbot Porridge is as unphased as ever.
Mayor Porridge finds the docile bovine as appealing as the next cereal but, sometimes, one needs a little thrill.
Despite being of excitable nature (as you know), the mayor is of gentle disposition and thus eschews the violence of the rodeo. Continue reading