It doesn't taste of butter or nuts; and I tried to make squash out of it but it came out lumpy. They shouldn't call it a 'butternut squash'. It's misleading.
I think Coyote and Roadrunner brought me this purely because it looks rude. They're infantile, those two. You should see them when they come up here; they stand around sniggering like a couple of street urchins. They're adults! He should be working in an office while she stays at home with their children; scrubbing the doorstep with carbolic soap.
But I digress.
The butternut squash is no good for a quick snack when you're up a mountain; it takes up too much room in your knapsack. I had to leave my flask at home so I could fit it in. Not only that; but I also had to leave my maps behind. Inevitably, I got lost. I was wandering around for hours; growing weaker and weaker (I only had four oggies, a slab of Kendal Mint Cake, a large bar of Dairy Milk, two ham sandwiches, a family-sized pork pie and a litre of whisky to keep me going.) Then I stumbled, weary and weather-beaten, upon a small hamlet. 'Machynlleth'. The natives seemed friendly enough so I stayed around for a while; taking in the sights and sounds. The timeless architecture; the toy town clock and the scent of mung beans wafting on the breeze.
I refreshed myself in a little shop called Tuffins. I availed myself of a coffee and walked to the Dyfi Bridge; her fine arches spanning a lazy river. I sat a while on the finely built wall and watched the traffic trundle by.
I think I must've dozed off because I fell off the wall and got hit by a number 34 bus.
That's the last time I have anything to do with butternut squash. I dread to think what they'll bring me next.