I shudder now at the word “spud.” It conjures up sensory associations with filth, stink, sharp piercing noise, expletives and screams, and yes, it is the name of that Louise person’s Lorikeet. She called it “Spuddy,” and “Spuddy Wuddy” (in an irritating nasal squishy childish tone, “Spuddy Wuddy Wuddy” etc). Apart from the dirt and stench from the bird cage, which Miss L seldom ever cleaned, and when she did, she dirtied everything else around it in the process, she would also scream and curse at the bird, and then declare how much she adores it in the next breath. My hypersenses were also assaulted daily by the sharp screeching of the poor caged bird. Horrible.
Ah, but I like potatoes. Spuds, as they are referred to in commonplace parlance. And I had a spuddy breakfast of microwaved corn, potato and cheese, with chopped fresh tomato topping. A much more pleasant sensory experience than that screeching, screaming and swearing Spud&Louise duo.
Life is getting back on track and things are beginning to look, sound, smell, taste and feel good again, and I will not allow negative associations to cloud my love for potatoes!
As a little playful contrast, I leave you with visual images of the other Spud-sensation, Miss L’s mess. Enjoy cringing, and if you don’t think this is horrifying, erm, well, you might want to take a few classes on hygiene and cleaning, perhaps?