(posted by Mike)
Purely in the interests of research (see D’s Choc an’ Awe posting further down the page for background), I have just tasted my first ever Hersheys bar, as purchased at the lovely posh deli which I patronise every lunchtime. (“You’re such a dear little deli. Michael likes you very, very much.”)
Well, just half a bar, actually. I simply couldn’t face the rest. Jesus Freakin’ H. Christ, it was REPELLENT.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Despite the choc-snobbery on display in the Choc an’ Awe comments box, I will quite happily chow down on a nice fat slab of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, if the mood suits. But honestly, this Hersheys bar was quite the nastiest thing I have tasted since K and I tried microwaved-chips-in-a-box in a service station in the middle of nowhere, about five years ago.
And they sell this in my lovely posh deli? An outrage.
(posted by Faustus, M.D.)
An organization that develops new musicals is producing a cabaret show of my songs that opens in a week and a half. Since this was kind of a last-minute thing, there’s been very little time to promote, and in order to get postcards (to send to my mailing list) in time for them to do any good, I had to buy a vast quantity of them.
I just found out that the producing organization gave me the wrong telephone number for people to order tickets. The guy who gave me the information is dyslexic and switched three numbers.
I now have 5,000 post cards about my show that tell people to call some poor schmuck in midtown to get tickets.
I face one of the more attractive choices ever offered me: get a repetitive stress injury from crossing out “686” and writing “868” 5,000 times, or play to an empty house.
I am going to shoot anybody who tells me to have a nice day today.
(The Who – “The real me” from “Quadrophenia”)
(posted by Mr. D.)
As my weekend is a resolutely keyboard-free zone, this will be my last post.
(Utterly predictable sound of trumpets playing mournfully, off).
Back at the podium where I started, and blubbing with the prescient knowledge that from next Monday my input “will no longer be required, thankyou very much”, I’d once again like to thank the TD for his selfless generosity and magnanimity. (“That’s easy for you to say”. “You can say that again”. “It wasn’t and I won’t”).
The unsolicited link to the MND website was particularly appreciated by the friend who lost her father to the despicable disease.
And if this member of The Infamous Five has had real writers rotating in their crypts (like the alliteration, eh?), maybe that’s no bad thing … It’s been, as they say, a large explosion.
So before putting a face to the name, and perhaps? improving on the ? that the TD bestowed on me in his “Parallel lines” montage, I’d like you to know:
1. It was the last fish of the day.
2. It was the biggest fish of the day.
3. It was the biggest fish of my life (58lb / 26 kilos).
4. It made an inexhaustible supply of fish-cakes.
5. I do not use Grecian 2003.
6. I am not related to any Iraqi dictator, past or present.
And for the fashionistas – the suit is by “Man at Milletts” (it’s a camping shop, Faustus, M.D.)
And my real name? Rudolph Hucker. Say it quickly and remember me.
… dons scuba tank, stuffs regulator into gob and slowly submerges below the surface ….
(posted by D)
Nigella is modelling the latest product from Acerbia, a trendy black T with the site logo in deep blue emblazoned across her… across… herm… her… um… oh dear, all the blood’s draining to parts unknown… (swoon)
(posted by noodle)
When Parky told me about the creeping liver the other week, I laughed. Her mother had once told her that if a piece of liver is placed on a work surface near a glass of milk, the liver will crawl towards it. I said she was pulling my leg. No, she said. Then her mother was pulling hers. She didn’t think so, and she thought she’d heard the same story somewhere else. I told her it had to be a myth, a mythtake.
Then today I came across this anecdote (you’ll have to scroll down a little to the piece marked FT129). I can’t find any other reference to this phenomenon on Google. Has anybody else ever heard this story? Or witnessed it? There’s only one thing to do. On Saturday I’m going to buy some liver. In the interests of science, I urge you all to do the same.
(posted by D)
I could just go for a chocolate spoon right now… I’d stir coffee with it and turn it into a mochachino, then give Nigella Lawson the spoon to lick for her studio audience’s delight.
One thing I have discovered over years of travelling the world is that there is no doubt, and I can guarantee unequivocally, that Cadbury’s chocolate is, to put not too fine a point on it, the best on the planet. No arguments, it just is. No, really shut up. It is. I’ve conducted exhaustive studies by eating lots of it.
The French like to think of themselves as chocolate connaisseurs, something to do with them being so close to Switzerland no doubt and every March the patisseries and boulangeries are filled to the gunnels with chocolate fish for April 1st “Poisson D’Avril” day where you give people chocolate fish that taste of cr*p (had to remind myself to bleep that) and pin paper fish on their backs. None of this detracts from the fact that Cadbury’s is still far supperior to their Côte d’Or, Nestlé and so forth.
Lets not even mention Germany and Spanish chocolate, they’re awful, bitter and just plain nasty. The only other contender in the world arena for chocolate would be Hershey’s and Mars. Mars doesn’t go for straight chocolate products, they usually use it to coat fillings like fluffy hooverbag contents and caramel, or conversely to hide the chocolate away within brittle shells that break your teeth. Hersheys… Hersheys…
Let me tell you about Hersheys…
Its awful. Its so awful that the Yanks don’t realise that it is, and it really is. When confronted about how poor their chocolate is they reply that its what they’re used to. For a while after I moved to London I would be woken up in the middle of the night by the three a.m. freight train that the landlord hadn’t warned me about. I got used to it but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t annoying. So I guess I feel lucky to be back in a country that understand the principles of making good chocolate and making it all year round.
Plus I love that purple metallic wrapper… and the snap of the chocolate after its been in the fridge for a while… and the way you bite into it and leave teeth impressions… oh man, I need some Dairy Milk now…
For those of you who may face this one day, here’s how to prepare for the onset of Empty Nest Syndrome.
1. Encourage your progeny to bring their friends home. They’ll squat in your garage, smoking “skunk”, so you get smoked grass windows and can’t see when they’ve gone.
(posted by Mr. D.)