Fish & Chips
“A fish and chip supper.” That simple sentence has the ability to instil a gargantuan measurement of fear into my mind cavity. Whilst the smell, I have to admit can be appealing when drunk or dangerously ravenous, it doesn’t detract from the cold harsh truth i.e it’s 99% fat and grease and in no way can that be appealing or good for you. I would rather eat a tramps’ sock. What I find remarkable is that there are whole families out there who dedicate an entire evening’s eating experience to the “pleasure” of eating this fried carnage. I think that had Jewish proprietor Joseph Malin (owner of the first Fish & Chip Shop in London) known how fat Britain would be 130 years after his institution was established, he may have thought twice. If we are to take anything form this ludicrously unhealthy banquet is that In the UK, waste fat from fish and chip shops has become a useful source of biodiesel. That should keep the eco warriors happy. Which does beg the question: Why if, we know that the runoff from fish and chips can be used as a fuel to power a bus, would we knowing put it in our stomach pouch? Thankfully, I don’t understand this British institution so I’ve look forward to not becoming a chubber.
After standing outside a club in Soho in the freezing cold, whilst desperately trying not to wet myself, it dawned on me how much I truly detest queuing. I would shudder to think just how many hours in my life I’ve racked up simply standing behind women assessing the pertness of their bottom or standing behind men looking at their hair line and checking their jacket, making sure that they have been using their head & shoulders shampoo, it makes me sad. In Britain, there is a culture of queuing and that strikes me as a little scary. Apparently in this country we like formation and acting like sheep. Someone got rather angry with me when I avoided a queue by using the completely unused cash point. Just because you are in a queue doesn’t mean you shouldn’t break out and rebel against the queuing etiquette. Whilst sometimes, I will admit you can look like a douchebag by destroying the queuing structure, it’s totally worth if it saves you 30 minutes in a queue and you avoid the condition known as ‘wetus crotchus’. Use this opportunity to rise up against the unnecessary queues that appear to form each and every day for no apparent reason. I have been known to come out in rash as a result of too much queuing… I don’t have much more to add to that. It’s just a small insight into my life. Not that you wanted it.
My first introduction to Kite Flying was at the tender age of 8 with my grandfather in a run down park in Hounslow, the name of which escapes me (the park not my grandfather). I discovered two things that day… 1. Kite flying blows. 2. Kite flying blows even more if you are trying to get a mixture of plastic and string to stay in the air whilst in the wake of the Heathrow terminal 4 landing path. Fact. For me the thrill of actually eventually getting the kite in the air is somewhat undone by the arduous task of being the ‘run in to the wind’ person. By the 7th or 8th time that you blindly run into the prevailing winds with only hope as your salvation and inevitably it comes crashing to the floor like a drunken 5 year old, you kind of think.. why did I leave the comfort and security of children’s television for this? I was never given a choice I think. Once you’ve wound up the string and made the cold walk back home to Bedfont Drive, even at 8 years old, you begin to question the meaning of life.
Those who know me, and there are few, understand my resentment for this overpaid, overused, talentless parasite. I will use this as justification as to why I find it a necessity to give him such a scathing report card, but that won’t take long. The feeling I get when I discover Nic Cage is in a film is one not too dissimilar to that of an infant waking up on Christmas day, running down stairs full of childish wonder and joy only to discover that instead of a full 7 piece drum kit, you have been given a motorised boat. You may laugh, but this is just an anecdote for you, I lived this shit. So that was Christmas 1998 and now that feeling of resentment and disappointment wells up inside me each and every time someone says to me, “Do you fancy watching that new film” to which I say, “Which one?” and they reply “Oh you know that new Nicolas Cage one…” It is around this time that our friendship ceases to exist and I make up some excuse as to why I haven’t been in contact for the past few years. Along the lines of something to do with an ever increasing work load. For those of you nay-sayers who disagree I will point you in the direction of the wooden faced actors’ pièce de résistance, The Wicker Man. My favourite line still remains “Step away from the bike!” thankfully someone has already taken care of compiling the most ludicrous parts of the Wicker Man on YouTube. After watching it, I’m sure we’ll be on the same page. Mental films, mental bloke. Nicolas Cage I have to salute the fact that despite being a thorn in my side, you can STILL pull down a PHAT pay cheque each year.
Is it me or do they genuinely stink worse that my flatmate’s room? Whilst my distain for U2 extends far beyond a small segment in my blog (that will require a separate post, probably around the time of Glastonbury), there’s nothing big or clever about these rocking horse cock bags from Leeds. Whilst I have nothing against the fair city of Leeds, I do take issues with these Kasabian wannabees. Wikipedia describes them as Alternative rock/Post-punk revival. I guess they couldn’t been seen to be biased. I would have gone with the simple, yet elegant ‘Wangle.’ Not only do I find their music insipid, but Ricky Wilson has to be the clear front runner for the ‘most annoying front man’ award of all time. Right behind Bono. “Ruby” has there ever been a song so void of lyrics and yet adored by thousands? I’m under the distinct impression that the Kaiser Chiefs were once powerful wizards, and using their superior magical techniques they have cast a confundus spell on us muggles, to reference Harry Potter, and now we are all under the impression that these talentless wankers are in some way a good representation of the British music scene. With bands like this…I’d welcome back Steps with open arms.
Why oh why, and I’m mainly talking to the Londoners here, would you take a bus, unless forced to at 3.00am? Yes that’s right I’m a Tube snob and proud of it! I cannot believe how useless the buses are in London, it makes me want to cry a little, but I won’t as I’m far too manly for that. Why would you want to actively get on a mode of transport where you generally have no idea how long you will be waiting, you are exposed to the elements (I include hobos and racist ducks in this too), bus drivers think that because they have been granted a tiny, insignificant nugget of power they think it’s legit to not let you on the bus, regardless of how cold it is or how long you have been waiting for that pesky C2. Night buses are no better. If you do manage to elbow your way onto one, you are then forced to deal with drunken jerk brigade at the back of the bus and in amongst attempting the slalom on a river of red wine sick, you often miss your stop because the windows have steamed up. I don’t get buses. Where possible, just walk. Your sanity will thanks you in the long term. I dislike buses so much that I thought I pop in a picture of a Baby Panda. Awwww isn’t he cute!?
To new comers to incongruous mind ramblings, you could be forgiven for thinking that this post was teetering on the moany side and somewhere along the line my body was possessed my a fascist London cab driver, but I promise this is not the case. There are even more things I don’t understand in this world, but no one wants to see a list of 1001 things, as it can be quite off putting. Therefore to rectify I will soon be posting a blog entry all about the things that bring me joy. It’ll be a doosie.
If you made it this far, make sure you tell your friends about the blog on Twitter. Use #cheesebiscuits and maybe one day we can all be a trending topic… everyone needs a dream right?