Leprachaun Sex

Another crazy letter from Sir, this one written to my uncle, the Baron, a couple of years ago.


Dear Baron,

‘Tis obligatory that I wish you and yours a good year, however, I must add quickly that I do not do so very eagerly. I only do so because of the hideous manner in which we are related, and marriage forces me to be “PC” to family.

I also wish to confirm that 10% of any winnings (lotto or other), and/or tax refunds and/or raffles you may enjoy are mine. I am entitled to this because there is somewhere an unwritten African law that says so and this argument of mine will hold up well in any self-respecting “Kangaroo Court”; failing to do so will cause me to become violent and I can do so in the single beat of a Cow Hide Drum. I can change from a docile Italian to a malicious Zulu Warrior with ease and I look menacing wearing my Gucci Leopard Skin and waving my Assegai like deranged Juventus fan.

I hear you asking “What has got into this little Italian Pr***?”..Well good man I shall tell you.

You Mr Baron are a sell-out. You come to our house in December (the 25th to be exact), donning Superga Sneakers (loafers, casual shoes) just a f****** fancy name for “tekkies” – not only did I find them very gay, I also found them very loud. Nooooooooogal they were the so-called “FLAG SHOES” representing the Italian flag…..Personally I think the “tekkie” looks like it kicked a menstruating woman in the front and got Butt f***** by a Leprachaun in the back.

Over and above this you feign to admire all things Italian, from their food to their cars, you purchasing the MiTo drives my point home quite nicely. To add fuel to this little fire you openly chastised me for wanting to own an Audi R8 and you gaaaaaned aan about how un-Italian I am, and that I am a traitor to my nation. But it is not this criticism that painted you a sell-out. It is the news that you have decided to go holiday in France.

Well knock me down with a plume. Why not Italy I ask, to savour proper food and not the cream riddled garlic-laced fancy named kak that the Phraanch call food. I mean this is a nation that eats amphibians’ limbs as a delicacy. In Italy we have true museums and art galleries, unlike the Upmarket Huguenots who needed to steal Leonardo’s Moaning Lisa, to attract dumb tourists like you are soon to be.

We have cars such as FERRARI, MASERATI, ALFA ROMEO and others. What do the Baguette Fuckers have….????

Me thinks that you are an Arty Farty French Gay wannabe, your dream is to drive a Citroen 2CV through “Gay Pari” with Edith Piaf blaring from its miserable speakers, all this with you wearing a Beret and smoking Gauloises (incidently made from fine, slightly dried French Donkey Excrement) and enjoying pretentious wine.

All Jokes aside I am a little green with envy and wish to forward a few pointers for your trip:

  • I am fully aware of your Aviophobia but I shall endeavour to be subtle. As we speak, 4 (four) A380 are grounded (viva the French viva). If I were you I would rather travel to Gauteng in your more trustworthy (Italian Built) MiTo where I could take you to Zoo Lake and kill two birds with one stone, namely you can bag a ladyboy in one of the toilets and secondly we can a set up some clever snares and catch a few “Paddas” which I will gladly braai for you in a delectable SEFRICAN Chutney Marinade and copious amounts of Aromat. And by golly with my finely honed catapult skills I can get us a lekker duck from the lake – that basted with a few brush strokes of Oros will be as good as any Duck L’orange the Eiffeltown has to offer.
  • Bring tons of Euros.
  • If the French do manage to get their sitting ducks off the ground and you do get to Paris I suggest you bring your own soap, as I am sure you know the French wash even less then the British.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Do not sit next to men whose underwear auto-combusts.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Do not sit next to men who look like they played a lot of Flight Simulator.
  • Bring tons of €.
  • Fly SAA. French Planes fall out of the sky like flying ants at dusk.
  • The best car rental to use in France is,…wait for it…………………is a company called ES CAR GO …………………….


Roses are red, and so is a bloodbath

So, Saturday before last I enjoyed a very productive day in the kitchen. I made lamb knuckles in tomato sauce, bulk bolognaise sauce, lemon and almond drizzle cakes and a Crostata (plain old jam tart but the Italians had to try and make it sound so fucking lah-dee-dah!) for Sir.

All done, the kitchen was sparkling again, and I was finishing up wiping down the scullery counter, when I heard the cloth rip. I looked down, puzzled, only to see blood streaming merrily from my ring finger. It wasn’t the cloth ripping, it was flesh. Then I noticed the food processor’s blade (yes that Klap-a-Mall purchase!) sticking out of the drying rack. The dishwasher was full so a few things had to be washed the old-fashioned way – by hand. So I lovingly wash said blade, and the fucker thanks me by ripping a nice big slit in the top of my finger. Let me tell you that bastard is as sharp as my tongue when I comment on fucktardian drivers on the roads. It ripped through my flesh with ease, severing a small vein which resulted in beautiful squirts of crimson flowing freely from my finger.

I should have gone for a stitch or two, but…….. doctors…….. needles….. no thanks. I considered Superglue. In the end I put a plaster on it, but every time I bent my finger, or bumped it, that little vein spewed more blood everywhere. It was a bloody mess. Errrgggghhh. For the next week my finger was blue and bruised and really sore but as long as the tip remained pink and perky, medical attention was not necessary.

Then, last Wednesday, my friend Sniffing Wetfart came to visit for the day, and I decided to escape the house and run some errands / troll shops, because sitting around listening to sniffing and frequent wet farts just falling out of her arse was not my idea of a day well spent. I suspect she makes a lot of those ‘berefts’ Sir wrote about here…. Enough talk about unsinkable Molly Browns…..

We popped into AMC to get a new pot lid knob since Sir melted one when he left it on a gas burner flame, and then I went to get him his favourite copper polish, because I’d hate for him to have nothing to do at 2 in the morning! At least when he’s polishing copper pots he’s not modifying appliances to ‘turbo boost’ their performance. It also means I sometimes wake up to REALLY shiny things, like half the prep basin – he will meticulously polish half of the basin, get bored and go and do some work on his PC.

I digress. Sniffing Wetfart and I finished the day with lunch at Tasha’s and a spot of shopping at Nicolway. As I waited to pay for some purchases at @Home, I noticed that they had small serrated Wusthof knives at the counter, on special. I picked one up, removed the sheath, and whilst running the blade against my thumb I told Sniffing Wetfart that this particular brand is Sir’s favourite, and that they’re super-sharp knives…….. and then I promptly sliced into my thumb. Seriously??!! Am I becoming a closeted wannabe cutter now?

And on that bloody note, it’s time to knuckle down to this week’s recipe – Lamb knuckles in Italian style tomato Sauce…. It is really good winter comfort food, and is delicious served with polenta, mash or rice.



  • 1.3kg Lamb Knuckles
  • 1 Medium Onion
  • 3 Celery Fingers excl leaves
  • 2 Medium Carrots
  • 3 Garlic Cloves, Crushed
  • 3 Tins Peeled Italian Tomatoes (About 425g each)
  • 1 Can Water
  • 1 Heaped Tablespoon Tomato Paste
  • Handful of Basil
  • Handful of Oregano
  • Salt and Pepper to Taste
  • Flour for dredging meat



  • Finely chop all the vegetables and fry in olive oil over low heat until just starting to brown around the edges. Add the garlic separately towards the end so that it does not overcook and turn bitter. Be careful not to brown the veggies too much. Pay attention. I find chopping veggies quite therapeutic, so enjoy this part of the prep, but, if you don’t care to invest the time – toss it all into a food processor, and the let the blades do their work – it’s best to keep your fingers out of the way.
  • Meanwhile, dust the meat with seasoned flour (just add salt and pepper to the flour – not necessary to sprinkle in some summer rain and autumn leaves).
  • Brown the meat pieces on each side. Do not crowd the pan. I hate this part of the recipe the most, because browning meat is boring. AND I always start off not crowding the pan and doing a sterling job, then getting bored shitless and just dumping all the meat into the pan at once and hoping for the best.

  • Transfer the browned meat to the veggies pot, add the Italian tomatoes, tomato paste, a can of water, about a tablespoon of coarse salt and a good grinding of black pepper.
  • Stir to mix all the ingredients together, bring to the boil, and then turn the temperature down and simmer over low heat for about 2 hours.
  • Toss in the basil and oregano (I prefer to do this early on so that the flavour really infuses into the meat and sauce), stir through, and leave to simmer for another hour.
  • Serve with polenta or mash or rice. I love dipping chunks of ciabatta into the sauce for a really tasty snack.

This dish is even better if you eat it the day after it’s made.

You can increase the quantities, and add a tin of cherry tomatoes as well, and freeze half for a later date.

The Baron recommends:

The lamb knuckles will be beautifully complemented by a full-bodied shiraz from the New World. The best local exponent of the varietal I have had the pleasure to taste is the Kevin Arnold Shiraz from the Waterford estate. Sheer heaven, but even a Zandvliet will cope admirably with knuckling down to some serious lamb scoffing.