As far as Pot Noodles go, this isn’t bad. Unlike other so-called meaty Pot Noodles, the ‘Brazilian BBQ Steak’ may actually contain meat, as there is no “suitable for vegetarians” label.
Having a close look at the ingredients, I see it contains ‘palm fat’ – what is this? Is it flesh from someone’s hands? Either way, it tastes good and is probably incredibly healthy.
Students will no doubt give it some prestigious award. It’ll be deserved.
You may have seen the video doing the rounds on the internet about a boy being attacked by a dog, only to be saved by some crazy cat. If you haven’t watched it yet, it’s here.
It looks liked this isn’t the only case of a mad cat. They seem pretty fucked up animals, which you wouldn’t want to mess with. Whoever came up with the theory that dogs chase cats was a liar – it’s an urban myth! Here’s the evidence….
When I arrived home yesterday evening, I found this waiting for me on my doorstep.
The Panini branded international envelope with its unevenly weighted contents could mean only one thing – the remaining 24 stickers for my World Cup 2014 album had arrived! I had a brief moment of extreme elation. the kind you would feel if you found a scratch card on the floor, with a £100,000 prize. I eventually calmed down, coming to the realisation that I hadn’t won the lottery and just received a letter containing my precious stickers.
Before I started sticking, I had things to do. It was bin day in the morning. I went into the garden, picked up the recycling, walked to the front of the house, ensuring I avoided the cat shit on the lawn. I then got the bin bags, walked to the front of the house, again, taking care to avoid the cat shit on the lawn. It was then off to the kitchen to do the washing up, before texting Claire, who was still at work, to tell her that I loved her and what a good future husband I was for doing all that housework. I then showered.
All clean, in my jammies and smelling of Lynx, it was time to get sticking! I tweeted Sam, a fellow collector, to inform him of my good news, before carefully opening the envelope and sticking the glossy bits of paper into the album. All the big name players were there – Nigel de Jong, Victor Moses and El Arbi Soudani.
As I stuck more and more into the album, something didn’t feel right. Something was wrong. Worried, and sensing a build-up of peril, I checked my stickers. Two were missing! Numbers 112 and 269. That’s right – they had only left Gerard Piqué and Egidio Arévalo Ríos behind! Instead I had been sent pissing Sergio Ramos and HALF of the Pantanal Arena (ironically, a stadium where a construction worker was killed last week).
I was mad. Somebody had stitched me up. It was like I had won the lottery, only for Jeremy fuckin’ Beadle to come out of a cupboard and tell me it was all a joke. Well I’m not laughing, Panini. I’m not laughing one bit!
What was I going to do? I did what every British man does when they’re angry. I wrote a letter. Except I’m in the 21st century, so I emailed them.
I’m still mad. If there is any justice in the world, Italy, the country where Panini are based, will lose 10-0 to England, scoring 9 own goals and allowing goalkeeper Joe Hart to get the other, before crashing out of the World Cup.
You want to know the best thing about returning to my old job? Lots and lots of cake.
I was awoken this morning by an excited fiancée. Claire was shouting up the stairs, to tell me that there was a bottle of milk on our doorstep. I found this rather strange, as we don’t have a milkman. We buy our milk from Tesco. I don’t like bowing to billionaire companies. In an ideal world, I would have a cow in the garden, which I would milk myself. Tesco is so convenient though – and cheap. Plus I don’t have to touch a cow’s udders.
In my dazed, half-asleep state, I shouted back, telling Claire to leave it there. Obviously the milkman had gone mad and delivered the pint to the wrong house, and I for one wasn’t going to pay for it, when we had about a gallon of the stuff in the fridge! Claire told me that there was a note with the milk, telling us that it was free. We quickly took it off the doorstep and placed it in the fridge, before it was stolen by a local cat.
So why the free milk? Maybe it’s poison! Apparently it’s being delivered to all my neighbours. It could be a trick, with a burglar monitoring which houses don’t bring their bottles in, therefore identifying those houses which are unoccupied – the perfect trick! I’m too suspicious, I know. I should have faith in my fellow human beings, and accept the milk as a gift… well, a sample off an entrepreneur of a milkman, hoping to drum up new customers.
As I don’t intend to take the milkman up on his business, I’ll take it as milk in lieu from the late Margaret Thatcher. I started school in the mid-late eighties, when she apparently banned milk for school kids. Given I was a little boy at the time of her reign of terror, I assume I was affected by this milk withdrawal. This milk is payback for what I should have been drinking when I was five years old.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
