It Was The Breast Of Times, It Was The Wurst Of Times

Did you hear the one about the Hipster Oxen burning his tongue? He ate his meal before it was cool. I know, I know, while you groan, why don't you listen to this wonderful song and read about how 5 rather damp Goodgymmers got on while helping out at the Haringey Foodbank last night.

You like potato and I like potato

It was a soggy night in N17 last night but that didn't stop five intrepid Goodgymmers from wading into culture wars about the pronunciation of tomatoes and frankly unprintable jokes about cured breasts and big ol' sausages. More on that later.

All the while, Femi from the Haringey Foodbank put them through their paces as our Goodgymmers sorted donated food into the correct expiration date (by year this time). Before you could say 'is there a specific box for ox tongue 2023?' our Goodgymmers had sorted all the donated food and Femi was already trying to tie us down for our next visit. We were obviously happy to oblige and will be back in a couple of weeks. Also look out for weekend missions at the Foodbank, starting first week of April.

Now, back to the unprintable jokes, I'm not going to say they were too bad but I'll say this... Poor old Femi sent us on our way with chocolate past its consume by date and with the promise that he'd pray for us.  We agreed that Gramps was beyond any divine help by this point but everyone else could do with some help from above. And on that note, we all ran into the cold, but, thankfully now dry night.

More fun and games next week.