Gaston was a terrible gardener and equally appalling cook. The latter of these annoyed him the most. With a name like Gaston he felt sure that his lot in life was becoming a head chef in a French bistro or some swanky London hotel.
He had all the tools. Expensive japanese knives, copper-bottomed pots and pans, specialist slicers for bananas, garlic, carrots and eggs. He even started his own allotment to encourage creativity and healthy eating. Alas, it was to no avail. After 5 full seasons all he had managed to grow was impatient, a ginger beard and five mushrooms.
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Catch up with the rest of the Friday Fiction stories over at Rochelle’s blog. 1 photo. 100 words. Endless possibilities.
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