A Porridgy Breakfast

[Stephen Whiteside]

A Porridgy Breakfast

Stephen Whiteside 09.07.2012


No muesli. No Weet-Bix.
No crumpets. No apple.

Just porridge.

No fried eggs. No muffins.
No bacon. No peanuts.

Just porridge.

No All Bran. No orange.
No yoghurt. No cherries.

Just porridge.

No cornflakes. No chocolate.
No dried fruit. No nougat.

Just porridge.

Porridge. Porridge. Porridge. Porridge.
Porridge. Porridge. Porridge. Porridge.
Porridge. Porridge. Porridge. Porridge.
Porridge.

That's what I had for breakfast.

Just...

Porridge.

[Rimeriter]

Hope it was hot, Stephen.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Yes, it was. Thank you. And lots of it. And also some milk.

[Maureen K Clifford]

They say the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth. I think you need to start diggin' Stephen - want a lend of a spoon????

[Stephen Whiteside]

But there was nothing else in the cupboard, Maureen...

[David Campbell]

Porridge

Cold porridge is the sticky glue
I use to mend a tattered shoe,
for I can take a wayward sole,
and with some porridge make it whole.
And if a plastic toy is bent
it also makes a great cement.
When I’m out driving in my car
I’ve filled up potholes…just like tar.
It’s great for fixing leaky pipes;
in fact it’s good for any types
of bonding when two things must stick.
It’s just like Selleys…but so quick!
Yet best of all, as I grow old,
and wrinkles gather, fold on fold,
I’ve found that porridge, with some milk,
is Botox-like…I’m smooth as silk!

David (09/07/12)

[Stephen Whiteside]

Time was when porridge was no more than that.
It stuck to your ribs, but the flavour was flat.
Now it is flavoured with berries and peach,
And often I'll mix up a sachet of each;
Vanilla or honey or flavour exotic.
My jaw moves no more in a manner robotic.
I get so excited, I feel I'll explode,
But...the old stuff's still good for the holes in the road.

[Dave Smith]

I like porridge, as kids we were brought up on porridge and as for no taste ya gotta have with treacle. Yum Yum.

A couple of good stories though.

TTFN

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks, Dave. Here are a couple I prepared earlier.

This was written a couple of weeks ago.


My Porridge Pot

© Stephen Whiteside 20.06.2012
 
Don’t touch my porridge pot.
You mustn’t touch my porridge pot.
Please don’t touch my porridge pot.
I’ll lay a curse on you.
 
Out here in the bush, you see,
There’s just my battered pot and me,
And we get on quite handsomely.
I love that sticky goo.
 
It’s baked on like a golden crust.
Is it love or is it lust?
Ash to ashes, dust to dust,
We will see it through.
 
It’s thicker as you reach the base.
Some folk call it a disgrace,
Say that there is not a place
For such a rugged brew.
 
Yet, to me, it’s total bliss
Sitting in the bush like this,
So I choose to just dismiss
The cloth-eared, city crew.
 
My porridge pot has never seen
An implement designed to clean.
Yes, it’s slightly tinged with green.
I’ll admit that’s true.
 
It all adds interest to the taste;
An ancient, marinated baste.
Porridge pots pristine and chaste
Just leave you feeling blue.
 
Don’t touch my porridge pot.
You mustn’t touch my porridge pot.
Please don’t touch my porridge pot,
And I’ll respect you, too!



...and this was written several years ago.


Porridge

© Stephen Whiteside 31.08.03

Porridge is funny. It makes me laugh.
(Put that on my epitaph.)
It’s made from oats (or sometimes wheat).
It’s good and healthy stuff to eat.

The recipe is very old,
And Scottish farmers ate it cold
For lunch. They’d cut a solid square,
And eat it in the open air.

The Scots say that, for best effect,
When eating porridge, stand erect.
Strangely, now, they find no fault
With recipes which add some salt.
It’s better, too, these same Scots say,
To eat a brew cooked yesterday.

I eat mine with milk and honey,
And, yes, I think it’s rather funny.
I don’t know why it makes me grin.
(One day, I might put raisins in.)

I like it fresh. I like it hot.
I like to sit and eat the lot.
But then, you see, I’m not a Scot!





 

[Zondrae]

ah! The memories,

Thanks Stephen and David, for reminding me of the days of the 'Bega No3'. We called it a 'fuel stove' but it would be more accurate to say a coal burner. We had a Bega No3 in the kitchen from when I was 8 years old until I left home at 21. It was the heart of the home in winter. We would measure out the porridge and 1/2 water and 1/2 milk, and a small pinch of salt, in a big pot, put the lid on and set it to the side of the stove before we went to bed. The retained heat in the cast iron stove plus the remaining embers cooked it overnight. In the morning, by the time it had warmed it up, it was ready to eat. Mum would have a teaspoon of butter (ugh!) and some golden syrup on hers.

I loved to sit with the oven door open and sometimes even rest my feet on the outer edge of the oven, and knit or do embroidery. In the days before we had television, my Mum, my Sister and I would sit before the fire in a semi circle, with both the firebox door and the oven open, and chat. Dad used to sit up in bed and read those little cheap cowboy novels. I wonder if anyone remembers those little books?

Thanks fellas. I might just find some time for writing in the near future and I need some inspiration.