I have established earlier that I am incapable of looking after myself, feeding my stupid face noodles, pasta and other such simple, un-nourishing nonsense. I like it that way. That way is fun, tasty, sexy and easy. I don’t have to try to pretend to look after myself. But did I mention I have a girlfriend? She’s here now. She comes down south fairly often, and every time she does, my incredible plans go right out of the window.
For you see, this insane girl feels she has to feed me what would be classified as “real” food. She gets what I have read are called “ingredients”, mixes them “together” and makes “food” for “me” to eat. It’s not cool – it’s insane. Tonight I’m having roast chicken with bean stew. What’s going on?
I’m comfortable in what I eat. Noodles: they may have all the nutritional value of a pregnant pause, but they are salty and delicious. Pasta? I can make a vat of it to last a week and it costs me a couple of quid. There’s none of this ‘salt’ or ‘spices’ or other such nonsense. It’s simple, just like my brain, and it makes it easier for me to carry on living.
Having said that, this does smell amazing and I do really prefer this actual food to the nonsense I shove down my own gullet. Well done, woman.
It’s officially barbeque season! I say this in full knowledge that many of you have already been to BBQs this year; fully taking advantage of that one sunny day we had two months ago. But I’ve called it now, and we all know I am the Master of Ceremonies when it comes to barbequeing, so shove that in your pipe, naysayers.
Anyway, what this means is we can now look forward to the slightest hint of sunshine being greeted with a mass flocking to the nearest supermarket to fleece the poor blighters of all their meat and assorted snack products. At least I’m fairly safe this time around, unlike in Leeds where the nearest Co-op was frequented by 90 per cent students, thus meaning everyone who shopped there had the same idea. And there were never enough burgers. No, this time around I’m in a half-real place with half-real people, so the mad meat rush shouldn’t be as frenzied.
Anyway, today is my first barbeque of the year. I say this and I don’t actually know for a fact if there is to be a barbeque at the party I’m off to. I’ve seen the word used somewhere at some point and I’ve just assumed the best, so off to Morrison’s (yes, I’m in the north) to buy a selection of crappy meats to shove in shitty baps.
Haha: “shitty baps”.
I will likely not report back with the success or failure of this barbeque mission, as I likely want to forget this entry ever existed. It has been written under severe duress as I prepare to leave the house for the day: something I never like doing. Wish me luck, children. (I’ve made myself hungry writing this)