I looked at the wobbling bowl of jelly on the table and felt sick. What on earth convinced someone to cut off an animal’s hoof, grind it down and mix it with boiling water? Some sick bastard in the middle ages did it just to be cruel to the poor cow, I’ll bet.

There’s nothing better to do, and I’m going to die of some horrible plague or other next year when I turn twenty five anyway, so I’ll take it out on the cow before I’m burnt at the stake as a heretic. Mmm ... steak. I can’t have that though, no, I’m just a lowly peasant. I can’t have that. I can only have the hoof. No I won’t cook it, I’ll just get all the gross bits and mix it with water. To make it even better, I’ll make it for dessert. Apparently there’s nothing better to have. It’ll go down well with the boiled spinach entree and the goat brains for main course.

I’m so glad they’re teaching us Home Ec at high school. If I hadn’t found that out, I’d be still eating that foul cow-hoof concoction. Yuck!

“Aren’t you going to eat your dessert, darling?” asks my mother. What do you think, Mum? Perhaps we could have goat brains for dessert tomorrow.

“No,” I say. “It’s disgusting and foul and I don’t know why you even eat that disgusting, foul stuff. Why would you do that?”

“Alright, now dear, you don’t have to go off all half-cocked like that. If you don’t like jelly, well just say so.”

“Well I don’t. It’s cruel.”

“Umm... OK, deary. Just don’t come to me in half an hour when you’re hungry again, asking for food.”

“I won’t.” I’d rather starve. They’re all murderers, my family, the whole lot of them. I hate them.

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