It’s a testament to the mildness of the weekend that I should be so surprised how cold it is today, I mean, it’s still fucking January after all but this morning it seemed colder than Captain Scott’s gaping maw. Not that I saw much of the weather this weekend, on Sunday I didn’t leave the flat, I didn’t get up until 6pm and that was only because I figured that unless I was vertical for at least a portion of the day, sleep might not happen later.
The black bitch doesn’t like this sort of weather and she squarked reluctantly into life this morning. As I rode in to work I past by the various landmarks of my weekend yearning for what was. It’s the most awful thing to do, dwell on what has recently past in the futile hope that you’ll be somehow whisked back to a particular moment in time all pissed up with two lie-ins ahead…
In lieu of being able to physically move there, let’s us take a journey back in time to Friday, sat in this very same spot as I type, shutting down my computer, getting on my bike clobber and leaving to get back home and change. Shortly after that Gee and I met in the usual and we were joined by Frank and his missus for a 3-pint debrief before heading off on the tube to Brixton. We decided that we had enough time to have a quick pint before Korn came on stage at a pub called The Goose. I’m only mentioning this because I’ve never ever been to a place that stunk as much as this. It wasn’t so much as revolting as extraordinary; the gents toilets were so dense with ammonia it was virtually impossible to actually breathe. Hyperbole aside this one, so bad was it that when I eventually did get home I put my Converse and my jeans straight in the wash… Gee and I sunk our drinks in under 5 mins and we went to the Academy. We had a couple in the bar with some of Gee’s friends and Gee noticed that Gary Numan was wandering about within metres of us. I’m fairly sure I’ve mentioned in a previous Piqued that he and I have a history, I met him once a long long time ago, I’d taken it on myself to sit behind him and perform a sarcastic rendition of ‘Cars’ and he asked if I’d ‘like a fucking medal’ -I was 14 and acting as a runner for a one off bank holiday telly show special called Names and Games. Twenty-five years on I walked up to Numan and mentioned the incident, in addition to remembering doing the show, he remembered a rude little sod taking the piss out of him, I took it upon myself to apologise for my precocious behaviour, he found the whole thing rather funny, in not a little surreal, and we shook hands. I’d been atoned.
Shortly after Korn appeared. The atmosphere was strangely restrained, I’m fairly sure the gig hadn’t sold-out because I was able to move without too much problem and whilst the band we right up to scratch, they were too quiet. I’m now sure of one of two things (bearing in mind I have had my ears cleaned lately) that some sort of health and safety shit has been slipped by requiring the volume to be substantially compromised or that cigarette smoke acted as some kind of molecular sound accelerant. We took the tube back to Tooting, grabbed a kebab each, returned home and rocked out with a tin or two of beer. I think we put in a 3am or so?
Either way I was awake by 11-ish feeling strangely okay, probably because I’d stuck to beer and eaten late. I ate breakfast / lunch (a splendid kipper with loads of toast) and undertook the usual Friday hell to the fucking shops. I took a long sobering bath and prepared myself for the evening, Myfwt bro-in-law 40th Birthday at a Brasserie in Wandsworth. Myfwt came over at about 6 and we got ready for the evening, we took a cab to the venue and were plied with champagne and canapés on arrival, both delicious. I knew quite a lot of Myfwt family but hadn’t seen some in years. I slipped into proceedings like a seasoned pro and did the rounds, ending on a table with a chap who I’d met a few years ago and another fellow from San Francisco who was big in the film industry (but without all the attitude I hasten to add). The former fellow had been a drummer in a punk band and had supported The Subhumans back in the day, which served to lubricate our already enthusiastic chitchat. Despite my initial trepidation of having to meet lots of family members and strangers the evening was a triumph and Myfwt and I wobbled home after many long goodbyes.
Myfwt and I returned home and drunk a bottle of Moet that I’d had lying around from some work do and we went to bed blowing bubbles. This should go some way to explaining why Sunday was somewhat subdued.
Gee has just called me, we were discussing Ministry in the small hours on Saturday morning and wondering when they may be playing, lo and behold dates have just been published. It’s small world isn’t it, but I wouldn’t like to paint it.
January 28th, 2008 at 11:46 am
The 14 year old you was a twit, Cars is a belter.
January 28th, 2008 at 12:08 pm
I know, I apologised to him for that reason
January 28th, 2008 at 1:51 pm
Do you ever get the feeling your life’s going round in circles?
Weekend: Get drunk, make pretentious food.
Week: Moan about work and fight with Cunt.
Weekend: Get drunk, make pretentious food.
Week: Moan about work and fight with Cunt.
Etc.
You’re no better than one o’ them tin monkeys banging two cymbals together.
You bastard.
January 28th, 2008 at 1:56 pm
And yours?
Sit indoors and eat Bernard Matthews
You will notice that I go out a lot more than THEE
January 28th, 2008 at 2:35 pm
That’s because I fancy seeing my fiftieth birthday without the aid of a feeding tube and a colostomy bag. All this roustabouting’s going to come back to bite you on the backside, y’know? I note you’re pushing forty (not s’much ‘pushing’ as ‘being launched headlong towards it at speed’), and that’s no age to be gaddabouting with youngsters. You mark my words, carry on like this and you’ll be writing this from a hospital bed next year … a bed covered in MRSA and liquid poo, I might add.
As for St. Bernard’s golden products, well, at least you get three for £2.15 (not as good a price as they were, admittedly). I’ll warrant the rubbish you buy doesn’t come in threes … unless you buy whatever it is in threes … and that doesn’t count.
January 28th, 2008 at 3:45 pm
Gee is 43, hardly a youngster…
Yes, I may drink a bit (not as much in past few months for reasons you so delicately cite) but I eat very well as you may have noted.
I don’t eat anything pre-packaged, indeed, I’ve not had a ‘ready meal’ in my life, and I certainly won’t be clogging up my arteries with Bernard Matthews probably quite delicious golden lard-filled chicken feet/beaks…
January 28th, 2008 at 3:51 pm
Hang on – I thought Pot Noodles were processed?
And sausages.
Pigs don’t grow sausages like limbs, you know. I should know, I’ve worked in a factory where they get processed.
As for Pot Noodle trees, don’t make me laugh, kiddo.
January 28th, 2008 at 3:56 pm
I, too, worked in the hell of Geo. Adams’s pork-processing wonderland. We made them fancy sausages for the supermarket Finest ranges. I made one batch after not washing my hands after having a piss. You, I sincerely hope, ate those sausages, Piqued.
Doesn’t eat pre-packaged, ‘e says. The very evidence of this lie is in the pages of this blog. Kebabs look like that from birth, do they? You bloody liar. And what about pub snacks? Never indulge in the mighty crisp or the ‘umble scratching, eh? I doubt it – not a man what guzzles quite as much booze as you do.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:00 pm
They process booze as well, I fancy.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:01 pm
Hang on – in these pages Piqued mentioned a full English breakfast in a tin he consumed whilst at Glastonbury. We’re being spoon-fed LIES.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:10 pm
AGAIN! These lies are everywhere. The bugger’s morals and principles are paper-thin. Tins of processed breakfast, processed sausages, processed booze, processed noodle snacks … what next? A web of lies … EXPOSED and DESTROYED by the feather duster of TRUTH. You, Piqued, have been hoisted on your own petard. HA HA!
January 28th, 2008 at 4:28 pm
Splitting hairs is what you are both doing
You knew what I meant by ‘pre-packaged’ and ‘ready meals’; an all day breakfast in a tin (once, at a festival) is just fiddled with Baked Beans, as for a Pot Noodle, that’s a snack, along with crisps and what not.
You both know perfectly well I was referring to Chilli con carnie and rice in a little fucking tray, or Bernard Mathews etc.,
You could argue fresh chicken is ‘prepared’ because someone has knacked the bird, plucked and butchered it, but that would be absurd wouldn’t it… Yes.
My kebab was fresh lamb and salad on a tortilla, I don’t eat the elephant’s leg thing, and even if I did, it still constitutes as fresh un-mass manufactured food.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:39 pm
Btw, you’re both gay, you argue on one thread and fuck each other in mine. It makes mine fass sick
*points at regurgitated Lobster in Savoy Cabbage and Anchovy, Porcini Mushroom Emulsion with white truffles*
January 28th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
Are we bollocks ‘splitting hairs’.
A Pot Noodle is substantial enough to be a meal – you eat it for lunch don’t you? Anyway – you didn’t say meal, you limited yourself to everything you don’t eat.
As for that English breakfast in a tin, yes – it is fiddled-with beans. With weird emulsified eggs, bacon with preservatives and Christ knows what else….
‘Fresh lamb’ in your kebab – did you see the fucking thing before it was cooked? I DOUBT IT.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
Moron. Baked Beans ARE processed food. Try mashing up a tomato and see how near you get to the sauce in those tins. Not even close to that weird, sugary taste or that strange orange colour? THAT’S where the processing comes in, you mug.
Sausages, crisps, kebabs, Pot Noodles, All Day Breakfast in a can … all processed, all churned out in a factory, all handled by disloyal, pissed-off workers on minimum wage who can’t be arsed to wash their ‘ands properly. There’s no bloody difference between your fancy-ass sausages and chilli ‘n’ rice in a tray. If you think there is, you’re clearly bloody deluded.
Born with a silver spoon in ‘is mouth, never seen the inside of a meat-processing plant. Enjoy those sausages (with the broccolli picked from fields full of chemicals and rat shit, by the by).
January 28th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
This is because, though we disagree on many a thing, we are equally riled by food snobs.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:45 pm
Living where the food comes from helps. Try getting your hands dirty, Piqued. Get ‘em dirty before you start coming over the expert with us cabbage-eared Lincolnshire farm hands.
January 28th, 2008 at 4:59 pm
I did see the lamb SH, it was on a skewer and placed on a griddle and cooked for 10 mins… (psst, it was fresh lamb, albeit a once living animal that had been skinned and butchered and therefore ‘processed’ I suppose)
I’m not a food snob, I just don’t feel that eating Bernard Ma etc., is on, and neither do you SH, or rather, you didn’t last week.
Pot Noodle isn’t substantial enough to warrant ‘lunch’ btw, I just eat it on occasion when I’m not feeling hungry and am happy to drink my food.
As for baked beans, yes they are a processed food but I maintain that you both knew exactly what I referring too when I spoke of ‘ready meals’ / ‘processed food’ etc.
Sadly it’s time for me to go home and prepare supper, I will be enjoying a stir fry (all components ‘prepped’ by hand though admittedly I didn’t plough the fucking fields and scatter seed to grow the carrots, or any other vegetable before I personally harvested it. Nor did I dive into the crystal clear waters of some fucking Loch to catch a salmon between my teeth prior to shaking it to death and skinning it with my claw) and tomorrow I’ll deliberately go into painful details about how it was prepared and ingredients used.
*gets on high horse*
January 28th, 2008 at 5:02 pm
Thanks for the warning, you snobby bastard. I’ll give tomorrow’s post a wide berth.
Good to see you admitted you’re wrong, by the way.
January 28th, 2008 at 5:52 pm
Yes, he may be a snob but at least he has principles.