“Sunday’s article on former prime ministers made me think of a suitable collective noun for the group,” says Peter Cole of Narrabeen. “The most appropriate one I could think of was a ‘burden’.” This leads us to one of the worst suggestions we’ve heard, courtesy of former British PM Harold Macmillan who, when someone wondered about a collective noun for prime ministers, proposed “a lack of principals”. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
“I think the judasbird gave away the apostlebirds’ position, leaving the jesusbird (C8) alone,” suspects Geoff Nilon of Mascot.
Gerhard Engleitner of Hurstville is steadily working through the list: “Horse meat? (C8) Oh, please. Lovely, especially as steak tartare. I expect flak for that, but during my travels I’ve tried: various horned creatures in South Africa (all called ‘venison’, which it rarely was), guinea pig, snake, dog, bear, boar, camel, various insects (drew the line at tarantula), turtle (disgusting). But I don’t eat lamb.” Of course not. We’re not making out like you’re a sicko, Gerhard.
David Oliver of Orange sampled whale meat and horseflesh when growing up in the UK during World War II but really beefed up his adventures on the Scandinavian peninsula: “I’ve visited Sweden a number of times. On a trip with my Swedish brother-in-law, he insisted, as we ploughed through the northern areas of Sweden in the overnight train, that I have a Lapp breakfast: smoked reindeer meat with thick black coffee. On another occasion, out to dinner with friends, my wife and I have tasted a casserole of moose calf, which had been killed on the highway, and we also went to a restaurant in Stockholm where I ordered fillet of elk.”
Kerry Kyriacou of Strathfield has sampled such things, too, but not freshly sleighed: “Back from a holiday to north Europe, my son brought back some canned reindeer from Finland. He gave them as presents to his cousins. To this day they remain unopened. Poor Rudolph.”
“Congratulations Thelma Marks (C8) on your wonderful life and memories,” says Alison Stewart of Waitara. “I, too, have memories of tales of my mother’s 23rd birthday – walking across the bridge with my father when they were courting, on March 19, 1932. My husband and I gave our then-two-year-old a similar experience to you [Thelma], in a stroller, 50 years later. All she must have seen were people’s legs!”
Column8@smh.com.au
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