Denis Lehane: My tasty old wellington boots and the beast of West Cork
Eating wellingtons is a recipe for disaster. The whole thing has left nothing but a bad taste in the mouth.
I don't know how to say this without scaring half the country, but something ate my wellingtons the other night. And while the fiend is at large, none can sleep soundly in their beds. For the beast who eats a wellington, is liable to eat anything.
Fortunately, my feet were not in my wellingtons at the time, otherwise, I might not be here to tell the tale. My misfortune began when I kicked off my wellingtons outside the back door.
