In the Olympic swing of things

It took until blog post number three but I'm in rule breaking mode. Friday Pizza Prose has morphed into Saturday Curry Prose, albeit tomporarily. Personally I blame the influence of the London Olympics. With the possible exception of Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding surely there is nothing more British than a curry and a lager. So, fast forward a few hours and it's me back in the kitchen in full British support mode. I have my chicken Korma bubbling away nicely and the stereo has made my youngest screw up her face. It's the Bard form Barking, that Socialist Serenader, Billy Bragg - Talking With The Taxman About Poetry.

Sometimes when we're as close as this
It's like we're in a dream
How can you lie there and think of england
When you don't even know who's in the team

Shirley,
Your sexual politics have left me all of a muddle
Shirley,
We are joined in the ideological cuddle

And what does the average blue collar boy from South Auckland drink with his curry? Lager of course, Carlsberg in this instance. I'm predicting a few more lagers over the course of the Olympics... Go Kiwi!