Friday, February 29, 2008

Because I always get that one wrong

Spotted while whizzing though the Times Online Style Guide:

"petrol bomb not Molotov cocktail"

But of course.

BEHOLD! The glorious 29th.

Ancient Person the One: "So! That's that cracked then. Can I go and play in the river now?"

Ancient Person the Two: (looking at complex workings out in front of them) "Hmmmm."

Ancient Person the One: "What. What? What is it? What?"

Ancient Person the Two: "I don't think this is going to work, you know."

Ancient Person the One: "What?! Why not. We've spent aaaaages on this and it's peeeeerfect."

Ancient Person the Two: "I don't know."

Ancient Person the One: "And it's sunny outside, look. Why?"

Ancient Person the Two: "Look. According to our original calculations we should be at this day by now, but we're already at this one. This has happened for the last ten weather cycles now."

Ancient Person the One: "Oh. Bugger. Are you sure?"

Ancient Person the Two: "Yes. Stop fiddling with your robes."

Ancient Person the One: "Sorry."

Ancient Person the Two: "That's okay."

Ancient Person the One: "What are we going to do then?"

Ancient Person the Two: "I'm... not sure."

Ancient Person the One: "Did I mention how sunny it is outside?"

Ancient Person the Two: "There, my man, is the problem."

Ancient Person the One: "Can we... can we not... just stick an extra day in somewhere? Say, every couple of years. Just to even things out a bit in the long run. Um. Sort of thing. Rather than work it all out again. Because that took *ages*. Do you remember? You had those robes that were all itchy."

(Pause. The universe takes a beat.)

Ancient Person the Two: (sagging) "Oh. Alright then. It's true, isn't it, these robes are very itchy! I thought it was just mine."

Ancient Person the One: "Yes they are! Let's go and play in the river. While it's still sunny. Whee!"

Ancient Person the Two: "Did you just say 'Whee'? have some dignity man. This extra day is a serious occasion."

Ancient Person the One: "Sorry, Gerald."

Thursday, February 28, 2008


How did this happen?

How did Masterchef come out of nowhere to become a media event?

I've already had a bit of a go about this over in the comments on Betty's place. But that was in the early stages of my addiction; I hadn't come across it in over a decade and had no idea it was still running. I was just taking the mick for it going 'a bit Apprentice' and featuring montage shots of contestants stomping through Borough market buying fresh things...

But it's feckin brilliant! It's exciting! It's tense! It's got nice food in and mad people! They flew the final three contestants out to Belize for the episode earlier this week, and choppered them around the jungle to cook army food in hot places. This would never have happened in Lloyd's day, I tell thee.

And whatever they are paying the person to stand in the corner of the room and hold down a single note on a synthesiser to denote tension while they reveal if it was the hot pot or eggs-in-chicken flesh with olive sorbet that has won that edition of the show is well worth it.

I didn't even understand the food on last night's programme though. A twirl? A swirl? A twill? Types of chocolate bars, I say, not some delicate piece of sugary thinness thing, which has no other purpose other than to scream 'oooh get me! I can do fancy things!'. Which is no bad thing I suppose. (I mean why else do I have about a fifth of the books I'll never get around to reading on my bookshelf...)

So skipping over the question of whether its the refreshed format that makes it appealing to me, the inane shouty, wide-eyed judges ("COOKING DOESN'T GET TOUGHER THAN THIS" etc etc) or I've just reached an age where nice food looks attractive, and hit straight onto the three finalists:

(...and can I insert the caveat here that whatever I am about to type next, all of these seemingly very lovely people clearly have more natural talent in the kitchen in their littlest of little finger than I will have in my entire lifetime. Last week I had something of a 'stop, little pot, stop' moment with a risotto. All was not well...)

Jonny: Looks as if he has bumbled into a kitchen by taking a wrong turn in a library, but is hoping no one will notice. Or like your dead great uncle who died in the war. Is endlessly referred to in the heavy breathing voiceover as a single dad. What impact this has on his cooking ability I do not figure. Although no doubt he can knock up a mean bowl of spaghetti hoops. Is not likely to win as judges see him as the weakest link. Depsite this he could have a stunning career as an army chef. Why he would want to etc etc.

Emily: The favourite of every father and male over the age of 35 across the nation, who may weep if she claims victory. Is endlessly referred to in the heavy breathing voiceover as 'just eighteen'. Probably because censors at the Beeb won't let them say 'a bit posh'. She is lovely and mad and lovely and has a bit of lisp. Her cooking is madly creative and wonderful, but her skin is not liking the hot atmospheres of professional kitchens. Is coping magnificently on working with people a lot older than her, but you sort of get the impression she could give it up at any moment and try world domination instead. Seriously. We'd all be being jolly and cheerful and eating bacon souffle for breakfast in a matter of weeks... May snare a win if her cooking doesn't too avant garde and she starts saute-ing furniture.

James: Has win written all over him (thanks Oli). Largely because he has the kind of hair you expect in a chef doing bonkers things in a high class kitchen somewhere in Devon. Is endlessly referred to in the heavy breathing voiceover as 'an ex barrister'. The fact that he's given something up recently is the icing on the cake. It's quite a good cake. In fact it's probably amazing. Looks good hanging out the back of a jungle range rover while being filmed by BBC film crew. Not only has he consistenly turned out top notch food, completed deliberately overly-complicated recipes and used individual ingredient combinations - he has also been 'a bit of a team player'. Ahhhhhhh, which is nice, isn't it?

So anyway. I'm off now to get the stuff for my beans on toast. Who will win, hmm? WHO. WILL. WIN. But before I stumble off, mandatory Vic & Bob clip ahoy:

Fry on!

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Nnnrrrrrrr!!! Interweb! I curse thee unto doom.

I have fallen seriously out of love with the internet.

I am have the attention span of a mayfly and am easily distracted by shiny things [waves glitter wand ANGRILY at the screen]. Work is busy buzzy bumble bee lately, so I've had to bring some home to do at the weekend.

That's fine, as it goes. Doesn't happen very often - more a result of my AWOL organisation skills ('mcgills') than anything else.

But of course I've procrastinated and farted about on a biblical scale. If it's not 'Ooooo Facebook', it's random shizz on Wikipedia or BBC News Online. And now iPlayer! I mean, seriously, it's like the world is wilfully ganging up to distract me.
Internets! You are a fleeting floozy temptress!

So I'm being about as productive at my keyboard as, well...

Still. It's spurred me into writing a blog post, which can be no bad thing*. But I am almost quite worried about my attention span. There's too much going on inside my noggin. I can't concentrate on books. I'm only checking the same five websites at the moment as well. I need to open up my t'internetting horizons. Any suggestions..?

Pffffffffft. Meh.

Um. I think part of blogging is to show some link love and move people on to other parts of the internet. Um. I've not really done that, have I. Um. This looks quite interesting:

Also I am slightly loving Anna Pickard's Kevin McCloud game. There you go.

* Don't say it.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Monday, February 11, 2008

Stalking can get you so far

Well. January was a big old pile of wombat turd, wasn't it? Here's hoping February is better. Although as we're halfway through now, we should really have some kind of idea.

I have a date next week. Next week. I'm actually quite excited about this and therefore certain it will end in doom and tears. for now I am just pretending I am not mentally ticking off a list of things like hair, clothes, venue in my head and giggling in a slightly inane fasion like A BIG GAY.

(I can say this because I am a MEDIUM SIZED GAY).

Seriously. It's going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Probably because I don't have enough witty banter* talk to keep up the almost daily stream of messages back and forth, yet now having arranged A Date it would feel a bit strange to just stop. Argh.

And I'm tired. Sooooo tired. Hence the lack of much of interest in this post, even. It's all a bit 'meh'. Which is very boring for blogging.

So here is a picture from Saturday night instead.

* Regular readers of this blog will gather that witty banter is not much on offer. You coming knocking for witty banter - can't help you. Cupboard is bare, like. Basically it's caustic sniping or nothing. Soz.