Problems with my Spuds


I will start this with a quick preamble regarding what is probably one of the greatest gifts I have received in recent years. After a conversation with a lass in the pub, I was informed that there was a company that would send people potatoes in a gift box. I did not believe her, and for some reason gave my address to a near total stranger, with her promise of a spud in return.

Many weeks, even months later a box arrived, and lo and behold, a spud in a box, accompanied by the smallest bottle of whisky money can buy.

Well obviously I did not have the heart to eat this pinnacle of potato-hood, but could not think of a fitting plan for him. eventually, my own innate laziness came to the rescue, along with time’s slow progression, and the spud of spuds gave me the answer, by sprouting some shoots.

So I had no choice but to do the honourable thing, and ensure he became spud and sire of spuds.

So there he is, taking his rightful place, so all we can do is wait and see how well he performs. Obviously I will let you know, and you are welcome to mash if they turn out ok.

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