Tag Archives: clementines

The 4450 effect

I was about to write something about the new batch of clementines that have arrived in Waitrose in the last week, possibly a Definitive Review (7/10). But I wanted to see if I could find out where said fruity deliciousnesses were from, so I typed in what was on the label.

I love the internet.

I feel like I’m learning things.

Also it’s just reminded me we’re into excellent Clementine season.

I am now going to go on a campaign of Googling every fruit label I see to try and get something a bit more fun out of the whole experience by cross-referencing… umm… I mean… no. That’s just silly. I am not going to get excited about the prospect of Googling fruit.

I’m not.

I might.

No. I mustn’t. My life has become one of lessening thrills, true, but I’m not yet at the point where I’m going to start a website like this one.

Though mainly because I don’t have the webspace right now.

Damn it I want a Clementine tree. And another Clementine.

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Portuguese clementines: the definitive review (7/10)

One of the main reasons I was looking forward to our jaunt to the Algarve was to see the lobster-skinned English folk roaming the region, trashing bars, fucking everything that moves and generally trying to ruin the world with our collective Small Man Syndrome that we as a small island nation seem to suffer.

No, wait – what I meant to say was: the fruit.

Fruit on the continent always seems to be better than back here at home, for whatever reason. I’m sure it’s very obvious reasons, but hey – let’s go with “whatever reason”. But now that always has to be changed to ‘usually’. Or sometimes, or rarely, or whatever I want to knock it down to.

Not always. Never always. The Continente supermarket in Loule made sure to ruin that particular dream.

In hot, sunny Portugal where would you expect their clementines to come from? We tend to get ours from Spain, possibly South Africa and a few other places between. But Portugal is sunny enough, surely? Even if it isn’t, they can literally get a truck to drive a few hours from across the border to bring some fresh, juicy deliciousness with them.

That was my logic.

What I was met with was a heap of dried up, tasteless and 40% inedible pieces of orange-coloured shit direct from – I kid thee not – Uruguay.

What’s the fucking point in that? At all? It makes no sense. Surely that can’t be cheaper than just growing them down the road and having an oxen pull a cart full of the bastard things straight to the market?

Anyway. Portugal: your clementines are shit. Because they’re from 5834 miles away. Sort it out.

(N.B. Clementines in Waitrose down the road from me travel 6146 miles and are delicious, so it’s clearly an issue with how they’re transported or ultimately stored at the market in question. But that’s too close to analysis, and I’d prefer blind reaction to thought any day of the week.)

7/10

7 of 14 catch up entries to go.

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Stop pining

As if things couldn’t get any worse (they could), they have (predictably). Something terrible has happened to me and it is stopping me from enjoying one of the few pleasures I still have (clementines) and is making everything I eat all weird, like. I speak, of course, of pine mouth.

While I could so easily be describing my own gob, such is the pining nonsense that has been spewing out of it for the last month or so. But that’s not the case. Nor is that as hilarious as I wanted it to be. No, this is a result of my new Fitness Quest IX, in which I am not just exercising, but am actually eating right too. Part of this ‘eating right’ thing includes nuts, seeds and dried fruits.

Pine nuts. I ate some. Part of a pack of other things. Didn’t think much of it. Would go so far as to say I like them. But something had gone wrong. Something was different. I didn’t even notice at the time. I just kept on eating. Dipping in and out. Small handful, eat. Small handful, eat. After three days, they were gone. If I’d have known what was next, I would never have touched them.

Because now, see, everything I eat and drink tastes really fucking bitter. Par for the course, what with me being The Bitterest Person Alive, true, but still – come on. This isn’t Aesop’s fucking Fables or anything, I don’t need to learn my lesson like this.

Anyway, I checked with my doctor (a fine person called Dr. Google) and they informed me this shit happens when you eat pine nuts sometimes. Oxidising, spoiled, Chinese, stuff like that all leads to things tasting bitter for a few days to a couple of weeks. Don’t weep for me, for I should well be fine in not too long. For now though, I can’t enjoy clementines – and I have to eat them, otherwise they’ll go off.

Well, it’s either pine mouth or I’m having a really long-winded stroke. Either way, it’s a bit shit.

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Fail.

Today has been a shocking one for discoveries about myself. There are things I am generally not confident about – a lot of them – and things I know for a fact I am bad at. These never surprise or shock me in any way, as they are just there as accepted truths. I will never change them (unless I do), so what’s the point in getting caught up in them? It’s those sudden realisations about things you weren’t already sure about that hit you the hardest.

See, I know I’m really good at peeling clementines. I’d go so far as to say that I’m probably the best person you’ll ever see at peeling those little orange bastards. I can do it in one smooth motion if I can be bothered, and at most it takes three separate motions. Not including taking the pith out, naturally. I’m also really good at eating apples, and the amount of fruit I can get off them leaves them with probably the lowest fruit:core remaining ratio you’re ever likely to see. Short of eating the core, of course, but that’s cheating.

I’m also good at speed-eating grapes.

But today I have found out that something I simply assumed I would be good at, I am not. I’ve done it a few times before, but not enough for me to have any memory of being good or bad at it. See, I tried to cook some brown rice. And I failed. It went wrong. It didn’t work. I could blame my terrible hotplate thing I have in the kitchen and its setting of either HOT or NOT ON, but only the poorest of craftspeople blame their tools.

I am a failure.

I let the rice down.

I am still hungry.

I am sorry.

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CHAAAARGE

It’s surprising how naked I can be made to feel with the simple breaking of one tiny thing in my life. See, I have what’s known as a “lap” “top” computer. With it comes a battery, so the unit can be operated without the necessity for a power socket nearby. It’s a miracle of modern technology.

Unfortunately it does still need power in order to charge up the battery in the first place, and in order to funnel the electric (“planets in the wires”) into the battery, one requires what I cunningly call a “charger”.

I’m bored of writing this now. My charger has broken, it keeps beeping. Fortunately I have Tiny Laptop, otherwise I’d be dead. DEAD FROM DEADNESS. Either that or slightly inconvenienced for a couple of days. Not really sure which. Hmm.

This also means I don’t have ready access to Photoshop facilities, meaning the greatest thing about this blog can’t actually be done. You people literally have no reason to read this page, or even look at what’s going on on it. You may as well just go and not come back. It’s fine. It’s better for everyone.

Also, I’ve eaten about 15 clementines today, and only two of them have been nice. FML.

Ooh, make that three.

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100th episode spectacular

I was originally going to save this for the 138th edition of this blog and pay homage to The Simpsons in doing so, but sod it: this is the 100th entry to this here thing I expected to stop doing after a week. As such, let’s take a wacky, zany and altogether ker-azy look back at some of the most wonderful entries I’ve made. Yay for clip shows!

Of course, this is where it all began. The first entry. The bit where I admit to having copied the ideas of a few people, though neither of the One A Day twosome do this anymore. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

Then what about my still-frighteningly accurate Come Dine With Me menu? I really do need to be bothered enough to eat better. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

The favourite image debate is one that will be raging for months to come. In my head, at least. Still, it’s a toss-up between my love for clementines or the Trian Crash right now. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

It’s not the best thing ever written, but I do actually like my Future Is Sterile entry. So there. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

Then of course there are entries like Biffovision and The Best Joke Ever which you should look at because they give you something to watch. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

I think the most popular post, or at least the one that people mention the most to me, has to be Sweden: The Definitive Review (7/10). I have no idea why, mind you. I think it’s a prime example of how I have grown as a person.

Let’s see what the next hundred bring.

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My love letter to clementines

I may have mentioned before that I am a big fat fatty, which means I eat a lot of shit. I dabble in as much chocolate, crisps and other such nonsense as those massive chebbers you see on “Make My Child Less of a Fat Piece of Crap” on the wonderful televisual channel BBC Three. Yet my absolute favourite piece of food-thing on earth, in the world, of all time, is the diminutive clementine. Which, as we all know, is a fruit and not a deep fried buffalo. Bizarre.

I absolutely do not believe there is a god and will maintain this stance until I am on my deathbed (where I will renounce this viewpoint and willingly accept the word of God as the truth, naturally). However, the existence of clementines is constant grounds for me to start believing immediately, at any given time, were I so inclined. Unfortunately, my head is too full of other super fun time activities and thoughts for my entire belief structure to be modified.

Anyway, less theology, more clementineology. You can take your apples – I love them very much, but come on; it’s not like they’re anything special and they’re a deeply solitary fruit. Pineapples offer a pine-laced edge to the apple phenomenon but are also the biggest ball-ache in the history of the world. Oranges? Too hard to peel, too big to care. Grapes are pointless and decadent – the two things in this world I stand against.

No, it is clemetines that offer the world something truly special. The soft, easy to peel skin offers enough resistance from the elements to keep the innards fresh and free of contaminants – possibly the greatest evolutionary trait since Christophe Lambert adopted whatever accent that was in Highlander. The fruit itself is small, but packs a taste punch akin to being smacked in the gob by Mike Tyson, 20 years ago, with his fists laced with MSG. Then there’s the distinctive shareology of the fruit, stolen as a marketing tool by the likes of Pringles, Doritos and co. But, as is always the case, nature does it better than the suits ever could, and I certainly don’t have to pretend I have more than one friend when I’m offering them a delicious segment. I do judge all of those who turn me down, though.

Plus, which other fruit has Mark Owen done a song about? None. That tells you all you need to know.

So in summary: I like clementines. I’m going to have one (bag) now. GOODBYE.

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