Comic Relief

Stella McCartney has designed a new range of T-shirts for Comic relief Red Nose Day 09 . They’re available from TKMaxx and retail for £9.99 and £14.99, with ‘at least £5 being donated to Comic Releif’ (that’s not a very precise figure it is? They managed to put an exact retail price on the shirt, so how come the donation gets an ‘at least…’ figure?)

Anyway, I have come up with my own money-raising idea. I’m going to pin a photo of Stella McCartney on my wall, and on Red Nose Day, I shall throw darts at it. For every dart that hits her in her miserable, over-privileged cow-face I will donate 10p. Usually I’d do it for nothing, but this is for a good cause after all.

In this post I have included a photo of Ms McCartney so that you too can print it out and stick it on your own wall, with a view to accessorising it with darts (or hammers if you like). Apologies to Stella, it’s not a very good photo, but then I was hard pressed to actually find one that wouldn’t curdle milk.

Memories of a Cold War

Just lying in bed this morning, I remembered something about my childhood.

I was a secondary school pupil in the early 80s. Our school was a big converted mansion, in the centre of the village, and at 4 storeys the highest buiding there. Which made it the ideal place to position the local nuclear attack early warning klaxon! I’m sure back in those days most places had one, and I suspect ours is still there next to the fire escape just outside the French class window, rusted and neglected after the fall of the Berlin wall. But I remember that every couple of months that thing had to be fired up for test purposes, and that sound, a long, imposing, heavy wail, would put the fear of god into each and every one of us.

REPENT SIR, REPENT!!

Ah, the cockles of my heathen heart were warmed yesterday by the sight of yet more Christian tolerance.

See it here

Many things rankle me about this, but I think the thing that rankles me the most is why a fat greb in a Norton T-shirt (obviously his Sunday Best) is using the word ‘Repent’, followed by ‘Sir’. Too many Marrillion albums before beddy-byes time I’m thinking.

Now, get your hair cut and come back when you’re not a twat. Sir.

I Have Tasted Almondy Heaven!

Apologies for not getting back sooner with my review of the Snickers Almond.

The Snickers Almond is just great! It’s creamier than its peanut-based brother, and obviously more almondy. If you find one, buy it. Although be prepared for the fact that it’s TINY compared to Peanut Snickers.

Now, we just need to get them to change the name back to Marathon, and all will be right with the world.

Paradise Found

Imagine my joyous surprise yesterday when I was handed a small package by my better half, Divastar, and upon opening it found inside:

Not one, but TWO Snickers Almond bars. I shall be eating one shortly, and will report back.

In the meantime THANK YOU SO MUCH DIVASTAR *MWAH* xxxxxxxxxxxxx

A tragic tale of discovery and loss…

I have been requested to relay a tragedy which happened to me recently.

Whilst away in Barbados at the end of April (I would say yes, look impressed! But we were out there for Diva’s grandmother’s funeral, so not exactly a fun fun fun holiday), we paid a visit to the local supermarket. All kinds of weird and wonderful items were on sale, mostly from the US, along with good old recognisable stuff shipped from the Motherland (Cadbury’s Dairy Milk. A snip at 3 quid a bar!) Perusing the confectionery I happened upon pure gold dust – a chocolate bar that LOOKED familiar, but wasn’t. It was ‘foreign’. It was… a Snickers with almonds.

Eagerly I grabbed the Snickers, and triumphantly dropped it into my trolley. I couldn’t wait to taste this new chocolatey delight, and as we drove back to the hotel my mouth was watering at the thought.

We got back and I rummaged through the shopping bags in search of my prize. First one, then another, then rather more frantically another…

Nothing.

So I rummaged through the bags again.

Nothing.

Where was my Snickers?? Had I left it behind, still sitting forlornly at the till waiting to be bagged up? Had it been left in the hire car, melting to a Snickersy-tasting liquid in the Caribbean sunshine?

A look at the receipt answered all my questions. The Snickers had never even made it to the till. Instead, it must have fallen through the very generously spaced bars of the trolley to the floor.

So, I never got to taste a Snickers Almond. We never returned to the supermarket, and I never saw them anywhere else but there. Imagine my disappointment.

Patisserie Minefield

I heard recently that nutmeg is actually poisonous when ingested in large quantities. Which makes a visit to the local cake shop for a custard tart an entirely more exciting affair.