Steve Canavan - January 31, 2013

Jesus on a quorn turkey roast
Jesus on a quorn turkey roast
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The thing is ....

Jesus was Quorn to save us all....

IT is not often you receive an email which begins ‘face of Jesus on Quorn turkey roast’.

Actually when I say not often, what I really mean is never

So imagine my joy, and bemusement, when Gazette reader Alex Leach emailed the picture, taken after the afore-mentioned Quorn turkey roast was removed from the oven and there he was, Jesus himself.

Hallelujah, praise be, it’s a miracle!

“I purchased the Quorn turkey roast and cooked it as instructed,” wrote Alex. “Once we had eaten half of it I went back for a bit more and noticed what I believe looks like Jesus’ face on it.

“I could not just eat it. Please have a look and let me know what you think.”

Well, I’d be delighted to Alex.

My first observation is quite why Jesus would choose to pop up on a Quorn turkey roast in Blackpool. And actually looking at it again, is it Jesus?

I fear it may be more Maurice Gibb circa 1975, or possibly the comedian Rory McGrath, or perhaps – and granted this is a little left-field – 
Brian Keenan, the one-time 
hostage in Beirut.

Then again it may be none of the above and instead just a burn mark on the side of a Quorn turkey. We may never know…

However, Alex isn’t the only person who has reported odd things on items.

The best in recent memory was the Sunderland couple who noticed a scan of their child inside the womb looked exactly like Michael Jackson – or as much like Michael Jackson as an ultra-sound of a foetus can.

They told their local paper, which duly printed the story, but – mainly because this happened in the months after Jackson died in 2009 – things went crazy and it ended up being printed around the world.

Could this be, wondered the Daily Star in particular, Jacko reincarnated?

No one answered the big question of why he’d opt to reappear in Sunderland. I mean if this really was Jacko and he had chosen England to pop up in, I’d have had him down as opting for London, maybe Brighton or Norwich at a push. But Sunderland?

Proud dad-to-be William Hickman told his local paper: “We were looking at the pictures, and I just saw Jacko there with his sunglasses on and his hair.

“None of us are really Michael Jackson fans. I mean I like him, but we’re not crazy about him or anything.”

Mum Dawn, chipped in with: “I’ve had plenty of scans before and none have ever looked like this. It’s spooky.

“But it is my seventh child, and seven is a mythical number.”

Alas the tantalising prospect of Jacko Two being born in the North East – what a tourist boost that would have been for the local council – was scuppered when the child turned out to be a girl.

More disappointingly still, a couple of years on she has yet to so much as moonwalk or sing the chorus of Thriller.

So just like Jesus in a Quorn turkey roast, all very entertaining but ultimately nothing more.

‘I’ve seen a better pattern on an old door knocker’

I’VE been writing for this newspaper for many a happy year

But never in my entire 
Gazette career have I received as much feedback from one 
article as I did with last week’s reminisces about my dear old gran and her quirky sayings.

And it seems I am not alone. Readers throughout the town and beyond have been in contact to pass on phrases they and their relatives used to utter, and some are crackers.

I received so many I’ve only got space for a few here but rest assured I’ll print more next week – and if anyone has any others, please feel free to send them in.

Ruth Goode sent us some lovely sayings used by her gran May Booth, from Layton, who died aged 94 in 2000.

‘Pan head and pie face’ (flat head and plain face), ‘well I’ll go to Buxton’, ‘hells bells and buckets of blood’ (something awful), ‘I’ve seen a better pattern on a door knocker’ (someone who’s not very good looking.

Sheila Helliwell, now living in Cleveleys but originally from Yorkshire, refers to 
bombastic folk who promise wonderful things but don’t 
deliver as ‘all wind and pee’.

She also came up with ‘belly like a drum’ (an obese person), and ‘couldn’t stop a pig in a ginnel’ (those lacking a bit of pace and co-ordination).

Jean Hamilton remembers two of her mum’s favourite sayings: ‘you are like horse muck, you’re always in’t road’ (meaning you are always in my way) and you’d make a better door than a window (standing in front of someone).

Thanks to all who got in touch – more next week.

Better late than never ......

I FEEL I am making a solid start to my career as this newspaper’s entertainment writer.

I have been busy going to shows at various theatres most nights of the week and on Tuesday headed to the Opera House in Manchester to see Goodnight Mr Tom.

I nipped to the family home first to see my parents and pick up my sister, who wanted to go with me. We joked in the car on the way how last time I’d got her a ‘free’ ticket for something – a music gig – the box office had never heard of me and I ended up buying two tickets outside from a tout.

‘Better be OK this time,’ she remarked.

Well of course it was. Until, that is, five minutes shy of the city centre when the tyre on my car burst.

What followed involved us running in manic fashion through the streets of Manchester. We arrived, panting and dishevelled, in the theatre lobby at 7.45pm – five minutes late and not bad going considering.

The place was oddly quiet.

I spied an usher, explained who I was and what had happened, and asked if we could sneak in at the back of the theatre, and switch to the seats we were meant to be in at the interval.

He agreed, and led us down a maze of corridors to the back of the stalls. We sat on a couple of spare seat in embarrassed fashion, people turning round in disapproving manner to see who was spoiling the performance, and were just sliding our coats off when the curtain came down and the lights went on.

It was the interval. The thing started at 7pm, not 7.30pm. My sister wasn’t amused, though I did appease her slightly by purchasing a tub of Belgian Chocolate ice cream from the lobby at a massively over-priced £3.50.

Memo to self: check start times for shows a tad more thoroughly in future.