Pie And Dead Horse

I'VE NEVER liked meat pies, though I have eaten many. At school there was one day a week when we were allowed to buy pies for lunch, which we all did, simply because it was considered a big treat. If your stomach wasn't already churning from the gristle and foul gravy, the urban pie myths did the trick. There was one about a human finger, with nail polish, found inside a pie, and another about a rat's tail, or a bandaid. Yet we ploughed on, gagging, in honour of a great Australian tradition.