Saturday, April 17, 2004

Oh, sorry, that was a bit of maudlin post to leave as the first one.

Actually, I'm not doing too great on the happy, positive and vivacious posts - as the 3 preceding ones are cancer, Chernobyl, and cold swimming pools. Oh well.

So happy stuff...
It's sunny. And I had breakfast outside (whilst being cherry-blossomed upon). And breakfast was over-ripe paw-paw[1], mango and melon, as all three were reduced, and there was a certain "wish I was in Antigua" factor in the supermarket. Though they didn't have any reduced passionfruit (green or otherwise).

[1] Or papaya if you prefer - it took me years to realise they were the same thing.

The world of Google hits keeps getting stranger, and broadening my horizons as it does so. For a start I never knew that Maltesers were a Catholic organisation. Here I was thinking they were slightly sickly lumps of crisp stuff in chocolate.

Thanks to this search I now know there's a crèche at Wimbledon Traincare Depot.

So are there many tickle-fight galleries in Israel? Obviously not, if the searcher is desperate enough to get result number 118. Though at least the first result on that page is honest - "not work safe". Oooh, funky - the scroll bar's on the wrong side. It must be very odd to have words going left and numbers going right. Or are numbers in Hebrew read as "two, and ninety, and one hundred"?

Advert de jour: the latest British Gas[2] one. Because it is purest evil, and makes me look pedantic and silly. Basic plot: Ricky Tomlinson is showing the trainees a series of slides most of which are of cowboys, with one of one of the class, and the final one being Deputy Dog. So which is the odd one out? The trainee. Why? Because the others are all cowboys [and of course no gas man ever is]. Except by this point I'm protesting that technically Deputy Dog is, er, a Deputy and thus not a cowboy. And then someone in the ad says the same thing, and I get rather embarrassed.

Nearly as embarrassed as when, whilst watching Sleepless in Seattle, one of the characters is advised to drink out of the wrong side of a glass of water. Cue: me, and the character, saying in unison "isn't that hiccups?".

See, speaking to the television never ends well.

[2] Sorry, no links, as I can't find any. Only people on a multitude of message boards slating him. That, and the guys on the "low-carb" message board discussing chocolate.

Oooh, wow, pop-ups have devolved. Usually there's tons based on the Windows error messages, hoping some fool will think their computer clock really is slow [does it matter: discuss]. but now they've gone cunning, and start using ones that mimic MS-DOS. Except they have Y/N, but also have an OK button that pops up out of nowhere. Oh yeah, because click-throughs tend not to happen when there's no GUI, and so nothing to click on.

And it's still better than the gator ones, or the games site one. Do I want to install virusladenjunk.exe? [No]. You must click Yes. [Cancel]. Do you want to play games? [Fuck right off].

Oh, and I'd like to repeat the same sentiment to mAnastacia[3]. And I've just discovered that if you spell that with an "s", then you get some Eastern European group who play a fusion based upon Eastern Orthodox music. Which probably sounds better than "left outside alone". Or maybe the thing that really annoys me is the "rock" radio stations keep playing her. She's become the "rock" Shania Twain. Please, just go back to cabaret in Vegas, and leave us alone.

[3] She who always wears sunglasses and big necklaces. Could she possibly be hiding her botox-proof wrinkles? Strangely the "bio" on her website[4] doesn't mention who she is, where she comes from, when she was born or how many years she spent trying to get into the charts.
[4] Don't worry, it was a very brief "research purposes only" visit.

And my some curious bit of synchronicity, I have just found out what spatchcocking is (no, it's not a painful piercing, or a type of firing mechanism on a gun). Well, someone mentioned they'd just bought a spatchcocked chicken, and so a Google later I now know what one is.

To spatchcock a chicken, lay it breast down (so legs are kneeling, and the wings are sticking up). Then cut up one side of the spine, cutting through the ribs, so that the side is completely detached from the backbone. Now repeat on the other side of the spine. The spine should now be completely detached (strangely none of the sites say what to do with the spine). Place to one side, and turn the bird over. Jump on it, whack it with a rolling pin, or as most sites say "simply flatten". It should now represent Damien Hurst's version of a butterfly. Now kebab the thing by forcing skewers diagonally through the legs, across the body towards the opposite wing. Cook.

Some the websites say remove the ribs as well, but they don't say how.

And is anyone else wondering if a human's ever been spatchcocked? There must have been at least one person unhinged enough to do it.

And on that note I'll end it. I'm not doing terribly well on the happy, happy, joy, joy[5] quotient am I?

[5] And that's apparently a Ren and Stimpy quote, but I'm sure it was around before then.

PS. Tip for the future: Never, ever stop to let two old women cross the road. They take ages to decide to cross, and then stop in the middle of the road to adjust the shopping inside their shopping trolleys. And this is on the busy main road through the town. One wonders how they've survived that long.

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