This morning, I tried one of those new fancy teas that everyone seems to be drinking. It was a Pukka ‘Three Mint’ Tea, and very nice it was too. What three mints are contained in the tea are yet to be confirmed, but I am relatively confident I could taste Polo, Tic Tacs and After Eights.
Some days I wish to myself that time travel existed. Today was one of those days. If Christopher Lloyd ever does invent The Delorean, there are clearly two major priorities for which it should be used. Firstly, bringing Tyrannosaurus Rex to Bristol Zoo and finding next week’s Euromillions numbers, for me and me alone.
Less importantly, but equally as funny as an escaped T-Rex terrorising the residents of Clifton, I would like to see Doc capture Uruguay striker, Luis Suarez. Even if you don’t follow football, you’ll know Suarez is a biter.
Unlike everyone else, I’m not going to condemn him for this habit. We all get peckish from time to time. I am going to moan about the players he bites. Why don’t they react to his nibbles? It’s not on. That is why Suarez needs to be transported back to Leeds in the 1970’s. Put Luis up against that dirty Leeds team. I’d love to see him trying to take a chunk out of Billy Bremner’s shoulder or Norman Hunter’s arm. Never mind a lengthy ban for the Uruguayan, it would result in a blood bath and a murder charge for a Leeds legend.
This lunchtime, I tried to make myself a cheese and tomato toastie. The night before, I had carefully prepared myself a cold sandwich, ready for toasting. My work colleague, Joffre, had kindly given me a toasting bag. I was a little scared about putting my sandwich into this bag, before putting the bag into the department toaster, but asked myself what was the worst that could happen. I came to the conclusion that the worse-case scenario would see the building burning now. However, seeing as it is being demolished later in the year, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
I stuffed my overfilled sandwich into the bag, before jamming the bag into the toaster. After a cycle on medium heat, the bag popped up. It didn’t look cooked. I put it in again. Smoke started to filter up from the bag. I got a tad concerned, but by that point it had finished the second cycle. I decided it had been cooked.
It was nice. The cheese had melted and the tomato was hot. The bread was a little burnt in places, but when did a bit of charcoal ever hurt anyone. After I had eaten the sandwich, I was told by a colleague it was a good thing I hadn’t set the fire alarms off as it would trigger an automatic call to the fire brigade and a fine to my work. A wise lesson learnt! I never saw stuff like that on Fireman Sam.
“No fuss,no mess”. It also claims that each bag can be used 50 times.
Lots of fuss, lots of mess, and after just one use, destined for the bin
Last night, Simon and John came round for the evening. Since I moved to Weston, their visits have been rare. During the days of Newbridge Road, we would often visit Pizzarella on Chelsea Road for our evening takeaway. Shortly after I left my flat, the mad, but extremely good pizza maker, who ran Pizzarella, appeared to leave the pizza outlet. Whether this was in fear of bankruptcy, due to me moving away, I don’t know. I did order from there a couple of times since his departure, but sadly, it’s not been quite the same.
Claire and I tried Dominos, which was OK, although the dough is a bit funny. Then we moved onto Pizza Hut. Again, the pizza was nice, but often delivered in a less from satisfactory standard – most recently resembling a nappy. I was introduced to Papa John’s Pizza by a former work colleague. While a little sceptical at first, as soon as I tried the pizza, I was hooked. It was amazing. What’s more, is they always seem to have a deal, along with offering loyalty points, so more often than not, I find myself with a free, or vastly reduced, pizza.
It was at my house yesterday evening that Simon and John lost their Papa John’s virginity. The fact they ate it all and didn’t vomit shows they must have enjoyed it. We ate outside, which was nice at first, given the heat from the longest day of the year; although I got a little scared when a seagull started hovering above our heads. Clearly this bird liked pizza too and looked like it was either going to dive bomb us and steal half a large double peperoni or shit on us.
The seagull led us to discuss science, mainly what would happen if humans could fly. The talk of selected breeding was raised, with an idea of breeding humans with webbed hands until, over thousands of years, they developed wings and the ability to take flight. Simon proposed that humans should also be bred to grow gills so they could dive to the bottom of the deepest of oceans, but that would be silly – they would, of course, be eaten by sharks and jellyfish.
When the pizza had been eaten and talks of producing a master race came to an end, we packed up the garden chairs and went indoors. I showed Simon the new episode of Friday Night Dinner, which we all enjoyed immensely, before we all picked another item of TV to watch, which was enjoyed, but not quite as much – mainly due to the fact I was growing increasingly tired. Simon made a wise choice of One Foot in the Grave, I picked Peep Show, while John went for Brass Eye. A little known one off series from Channel 4. These are all from DVDs I own and have paid for with my own money, so it’s not like I could really complain about disliking any of them.
John also broke the major news that he was moving out of his cottage in Marshfield and returning to his canal boat to live. Sadly, this means no more barbecues in the back garden or Bomberman sessions on his big TV. The return to the boat will, however, mean barbecues on a towpath and me watching Simon and John dispose of dead, bloated and drowned badgers (see an old blog from 2010).
Last night, the England flag in the front window got taken down. Exactly 8 days after I put it up. I could have binned the flag or used it as some kind of cleaning cloth, but instead decided to put it into a cupboard, for it to gather dust and make a return in two years for the European Championships.
Hopefully when the team return to England, following their ‘Carry on Brazil’ tour, certain players will also be shoved in a cupboard, namely Steven Gerrard and Wayne Rooney. Unlike the flag, I hope they don’t come back out. That may sound a tad harsh on old Stevie G, but that’s exactly it, he’s old. He’s done well in the past, but now it’s time to retire. Thank you, but goodbye. As for ‘Wazza’, he hasn’t impressed me in a major tournament since Euro 2004, an entire decade ago.
Despite a predictably calamitous World Cup, I do hold optimism for England. They have a lot of promising, young players; who, although losing both of the opening games, appear to be doing something rare for an England side – work together. Yes, team spirit is high in the camp. So much so that when they scored against Italy, they all piled upon their physio, breaking his bones. You couldn’t make it up. Well, maybe the script writers for the new Mike Bassett movie could.
Anyway, despite the vast majority of people I heard on the increasingly annoying BBC Five Live 606 phone-in, along with half of Twitter, calling for Roy Hodgson to go, I am behind the England manager. Replacing him with the likes of that wheeler-dealer Harry Redknapp will achieve nothing. In fact, it will set England back years. Roy is slowly, but surely building a good team, who I predict will do well in Euro 2016 and the next World Cup. If the team fails to do so, I will admit that his doubters were correct and kiss Redknapp’s saggy face. OK, not the last bit, but I will say I was wrong. HOWEVER, if Roy and the boys live up to what I believe they are capable of, I expect you all to apologise. And grovel. And beg for forgiveness.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
