On chicken wings and toastie makers
Isn’t life quirky, and isn’t it lovely (at times), and doesn’t it just surprise you? I hope you concur. Don’t you find you can meet dozens of new people in the monsoon periods of socialising we sometimes go through? (See previous post for details on my life’s drough-monsoon activity cycle.) And of those dozens of people (as lovely as they all may be), one, just one, will catch you and grab you and swallow you up by their presence, their being; there’s-something-about-them, an amazing spark, an excitement, an immediacy, a je ne sais quoi. Do you get that? I do.
Rudegirlz (yes, plural with a zed) continue to astound me too, they truly are entertaining. Why, oh why, would you ever feel the need to screech across a busy street at a fellow rudeguuuurl girlfriend “TCCHCHH!* Wha’ is i’ wivv you an your fong man?” Why. Just why.
* ‘Tcchchh’ is now officially the written representation of the teeth-kissing thing that rudeboiz/gurlz do, decreed by me.
Oh yeah, so chicken wings, or, more precisely, unattended chicken wings (barbeque style, with soured cream and a bit of frisée lettuce on the side) and a stray pot of sweeeeet chilli sauce. It has been discovered, by valid scientific investigation naturally, that these items can provide moments of mirth, and that pain-in-chest laughter you just want it to stop being so funny like now, but it won’t and you carry on laughing until you can burp a little and it hurts less. But don’t try eating the wings, eugh, fatty and nasty and tepid, and probably laced with salmonella. In short, don’t consider the options available to you when someone else’s food has been left, solitary and alone, at a table you’ve just sat down at.
St. Albans. What does the place make you think of? Somewhere not so pretty, perhaps a bit sixties and concrete, a little Croydon north of Lahndun? If you do, you would be wrong! I had my perceptions altered radically today, by a very well conducted tour of the city by Mr Christopher, and a visit to the Waffle House, which is a fantastic idea. Why aren’t there more of them, I ask? Anyway, St Albans- it’s boootiful, innit, such a delightful city! Ducks, pretty houses, cobbledy streets, Norman cathedral, it’s all just ooooooh and smiley and luuurvely. Go visit if you have a chance, it is ver nice.
What I don’t consider a noble pursuit, Mr Chris, is this site here you’ve made to be the Comic Sans Appreciation Society. The font should be driven from all published media, electronic, printed, edible, you name it! COMIC SANS is bad, m’kay? Tut. I’m reconsidering how much we should be in correspondence now, based on this. It may have to be capped at one hand-written letter, delivered by an elfin being, every three days, and that’s pushing it. As a Daily Mail reader may say, I’m shocked, saddened and appalled- it will be the demise of Great Britain and all who sail in her! Tsk.
Moosic: Elbow's superduperdelicious debut album, Asleep In The Back. Buy it now, and love it, people.
EDIT! I forgot to mention toastie makers, didn't I? Well, apparently I move into my college accomodation safe in the knowledge that I can take a toastie maker, but not a microwave over, with me. Fantastic. But when does term start eh? What about the other important information?! AAAARGH!
Posted: 27-08-05 22:38 :: Permalink: http://ben.corale.co.uk/archive/v1/199.html
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