Sunday, 27 January 2008


Shopping on a Sunday in Chorlton can be a chore at the best of times, but imagine my horror to find that it had become a free-range-chicken-free zone. Thanks, I suspect, in no small measure to Hugh Foppery-Witlessstool and his recent tirade against foul fowl farming. I couldn't find a bird that had led a blameless life for love nor money, talk about virgins and Nevada whorehouses. To get over the shock, I went to see what Uluru had to offer.Uluru is an Australian bar and grill, and it being the day after Australia Day, very little was the answer. The menu was as rare as a convent girl at a picnic at Hanging Rock. Not for the first time, I had to seek solice at the bottom of a bottle and ordered the last Tooheys from a very hungover barman-it was the day after Australia Day after all.

And very refreshing it was too as I forgot the chicken and contemplated what to have for Sunday tea. I will return to Uluru but, I suspect, it is more billabong than bushtucker.

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