Sunday, 29 April 2012

Tea, heroin and corned beef, with advocaat and chimpy pants.

We all love a cup of tea, don't we?
Actually, I'm not keen on hot drinks and consume exclusively gin, wine, cider, lager, brandy or at a pinch, advocaat. Other people seem to like it, though. Each to their own.

Dave, surrounded by drug paraphernalia, holding a can of Spam. 
But tea, like corned beef, is getting to be a very expensive commodity.
Soon, only posh sorts like Cameron and his chums will be able to afford to drink what was once the heroin of the working classes.

Seventy years ago 'salt of the earth' types used to toil through 18 hour shifts in Munitions factories, getting their hands blown off willy-nilly, with nothing more to sustain them than a jam jar of weak Bruce Lee.
These days tea is a drink for the elite classes and no doubt Cameron is planning a Teabag tax as we speak.
However, even those of us who didn't make The Sunday Times Shit List can have the luxury of our own tax loophole and here's mine. Make your own teabags.

Although they don't want you to find it, most supermarkets still sell 'loose tea', which retails at between £3.75 per kg and £13.50 per kg. This stuff is the thoroughbred 'shit' and you only need a small amount to get chronic.
By comparison, commercial teabags contain only a tiny pinch of real tea. The bulk is made up with dried monkey droppings mixed with bark and the strength can vary considerably, depending on your dealer.
Personally, I think that it's a lot safer to make your own teabags because you know exactly what's in them, thereby avoiding the risk of going all Joplin and joining the 27 Club, which is like S Club 7, just with less dancing.

So, we have the tea, that just leaves is the bag.

The stains will add a subtle yet floral note of chimp farts.
I have tried various prototypes and bags made of toilet roll look best if you have company. Obviously save the toilet roll for doing what Izal intended.
If you are drinking tea in private, the best option is a sock, or for pure indulgence, some old pants. Make sure that they are well matured if you're a sucker for the monkey dropping tang.

And finally, a word on corned beef.
When I was a kid, this was a weekly treat. Mam used to open a tin, stuff it with an egg and roast it with potatoes and cheap lager. She told us it was a chicken.
Nowadays, corned beef is getting so expensive that even gentry like Cameron will have to reserve it for special occasions, perhaps cutting it into Oxo cube sized pieces and doling it out as 'treats' for Cabinet members who act with integrity and honesty.

Probably best keep it in the freezer Dave...




Monday, 23 April 2012

Lardy pig butter, fried crack sandwiches, dining on Ossifrages and Queen Mick.

Butter, as the youngsters would say, is well 'gangsta' and I am in fulsome agreement. I don't know why people use margarine instead, although no one uses the word 'margarine' anymore, it's called 'spread' nowadays, but it's still margarine.
And it's a bag of dicks.

Dave being all 'Gangsta' with butter.  
Margarine conjures up an image of life 1976, sat on a cold, vinyl sofa, in a hovel smelling of fags and sherry, playing 'Ker Plunk' on your own with nothing to eat except watered-down baked beans, stuffing mix made with cold water, sliced white bread and margarine.
And that association is not just mine, it is universal throughout The Mammalhood.

Butter prices have really shot up lately, but even here in The House of Froog we still insist on butter. In fact Dave comes over all testoric at the very thought of what he chooses to call 'slimy upduck'.

Although a lot of margarine on the market today is a good deal cheaper than butter, some has the audacity to be the same price, if not, slightly more expensive. I think that people choose margarine over butter because they are very busy and margarine is always easy to spread, like Gentlewarts, hence it's new name.

More foods should be named after the way we 'apply' them.
Milk would be called 'pour', sugar would be 'sprinkle', eggs would be 'crack', causing widespread confusion among drug dealers and poultry breeders, and grapefruit would be 'brace yourself'....

Grapefruit is a very unpleasant fruit.
I can only think that people eat it because they are a certified ding-a-ling and really need a carer to accompany them while they do their grocery shopping.
Or because they think that it's good for them and will make them do a burny dirtybirth, after which they can have a celebration, having rid their body of the noxious substance. It's just an excuse for a party really.

But back to butter.
Butter has a dark side, an evil twin who follows in it's wake, causing mayhem and misery.
It's name is unsalted butter.
Pale and tasteless and definitely not funny, like Chris Evans in a block.
It lies in the chiller section, masquerading as proper butter and willing you to pick it up in error. There's only an 'un' between buttered toast and a full blown domestic apocalypse.

I know people use it in puddings but I have no idea why, as most puddings benefit from a bit of salt in the mix and if you can detect the salt from butter in your pudding you're probably royalty and should be eating gold, Ossifrages and diamonds, not a wodge of Suet Surprise.

Princess Dave, an Ossifrage, and assorted condiments.
Hardcore pervs actually put unsalted butter on their bread and this is where the money saving advice comes in.
Use lard-it looks the same and tastes the same and it's a good deal cheaper.
Lurpak unsalted, which is viewed as the dogs bollocks among the USB devotees, comes from Denmark.
Where do all the pigs in the world live?
Denmark.
It's butter alright, butter made from pig milk. Pig Butter.
Save money and use lard instead. You won't know the difference.
They make pig cheese too. It's called 'mild cheddar' and there is absolutely no point to it.

Finally, if you are celebrating St Georges Day with Union Jack type paraphernalia and associated patriotic tat, fold it up nicely and save it for Her Maj's celebrations which mark 1000 years of wearing pastel shades, later this year.
Although if you forget, I notice that The 99p Store are already stockpiling a range of shopping bags to mark the occasion. Bargain at 99p, although I think they may have got their old ladies mixed up as the picture on the side looks like Mick Jagger






Thursday, 19 April 2012

Travelling-why it's a really bad idea, plus boiling peas in the kettle.

Travel.
I'm not a fan.
It's expensive, tiring and makes you feel 'grubby'. Plus, it takes ages and, be it by coach, train or plane you always end up densely packed with my bete noir-other people.
I'm also led to believe that it's not very 'green', as it uses a lot of petrol and pisses off whales.

I don't understand why people 'do' travelling any more. There are so many pictures on the Internet and in books that it strikes me as quaintly old fashioned to actually go there.
It's a bit like choosing to make your own puff pastry or knitting a sock, which no one except Kirsty Allsopp  would contemplate. And she'd only contemplate it if her efforts were being filmed for her TV show, don't try and tell me otherwise.


Dave looking at Times Square.

Dave, watching a Mets game at Shea Stadium. 
My biggest regret in life is not settling for just looking at pictures of Malta.
Oh no, I insisted on travelling three quarters of the way round the globe and actually setting foot in the treacherous, stinking hell-hole.
Big mistake.

Which leads me to my next observation. Travel is HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

In the news this week there was the case of the Air Canada pilot who woke up from a nap, saw the planet Venus, thought it was a bus and almost drove his plane into the Atlantic Ocean.
Hell's Teeth, what a fright that must have been!
On the other hand, we've all been there....
A few days ago I was napping on the sofa in my Slanket and dreamt that someone had knocked on the door. Getting up to answer it in a state of 'significant sleep inertia', (that's what the pilot had), I trod on the whippet's tail and made him yelp.
It can happen to the best of us.

Dave, dressed as a local tribesperson, on a bus in Cameroon. With some monkeys.
Holiday makers return from their travels exhausted, in debt and ill.
Without exception, they will have been kidnapped and tortured by the locals. They are usually riddled with parasites and have lost a few toes in a shark attack, especially if they stayed at Butlins.
At least 75% of their belongings will have gone missing and, when asked if they had a nice time, they report the need for 'a holiday to get over it'.
I hate people who say that. As well as those who type 'LOL' and use the term of endearment, 'hun'.
Pure class.

Anyway, when it comes to travelling, save yourself a lot of heartache and just say an emphatic 'No'.

Apart from not travelling, today's money saving tip is to cook your peas in the kettle.
Obviously synchronise the hot peas with the need for a cup of tea or coffee, otherwise it's just extremely wasteful. 

Monday, 16 April 2012

Emergency teabagging, soap in your gusset, drought foods and goblinaires.

So half of the UK is officially a drought area and we must all be careful with water. Regular readers will know that this has been my policy for some time, mainly because we have a water meter, but now I can pretend that it's for the greater good of mankind. Well, East Anglia.

Due to the emergency situation I thought that I would pass on my extreme water saving tips. Please that these tips are reserved for times of National Emergency only, like when Thomasz Shafernaker did a bird during the weather.

Warning: Graphic content. Dave teabagging.
1. Don't flush the toilet until the smell threatens to burn off your nostril hairs. Or until the fumes coming out of the bog cause mild burns to your Jacksy. Or there's a risk of combustion. Or there's no room left.

2. THERE IS NEVER ANY NEED TO TAKE A BATH. Just don't do it. If you are so filthy that a shower won't do, what on earth were you thinking? A bath is a waste of a nice lie down. It's wet and unnatural. It's also very slow and makes you itch. And you have to move all the coal.

4. Buy dehydrated food and don't add water. You'll still have a large choice of foodstuffs-Pot Noodles, Vesta meals, absolutely anything by Ainsley Harriott who has produced a very drought-friendly range (must've seen this coming), soup mix, cake mix, 'instant' mashed potato, dried pulses, stuffing mix, flour, soya mince, dried pasta, Super Noodles and Savoury Rice. The list is endless.

5. Put a teabag in your mouth for about 10 minutes. Your body will produce it's own tea, thereby negating the need for pots, cups, water, etc. Add sugar and milk (dried, of course) to taste. Same for coffee, Cup a Soup or Horlicks.

6. Stop washing your clothes. If you have a stain, rub the entire garment in the source of the stain in order to make the stain invisible. If you have made your clothes smell so much that they are no longer wearable, put them in the freezer for a few hours. You will then be able to wear them for short bursts, before they thaw and the smell resurrects itself. Keep a few outfits in there, so that you can rotate quickly. And don't go far from the freezer.

Dave, preparing for an interview. 
7. For special occasions, like interviews or weddings, spit on a bar of soap and rub it in your armpits. Then secrete the bar of soap in your gusset. As it warms, it will slowly 'aromatize' your bagpipes, like a human Plug-In, but more eco-friendly.

8. Save any excess spit in bin liners. Once you have several bags, you will be able to sell it to Southerners. They will pay premium prices and you may well end up a goblinaire.

Right, I'm off to fill up a few bin sacks before This Morning comes on.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

Prison. The ultimate budget lifestyle? Plus the upside of sharing a cell with 36 others.

I am currently reading a book about a drug smuggler who escapes from a Thai jail. His description of the vile and treacherous conditions reminds me of Asda in August.

It's the same old pattern of events. Smuggler, on his last ever run, gets stopped at airport with a few packs of Lemsip taped to his undertail and is sentenced to 330 years in SuperMax.
One day, while idly digging ticks out of his Manbags, he has a lightbulb moment and decides to risk pulling his back or getting shot, make a run for it and then write a book about his shenanigans.

Fair enough, I've seen enough episodes of Banged Up Abroad to know how it plays out.

What catches my attention is that he is sometimes held in a cell measuring 7 feet by 9 feet, with 36 other prisoners.
More similarities with Asda, especially in the cider aisle when Frosty Jack's is on BOGOF, although it probably doesn't smell as bad.

Warning: Graphic content. Dave in Asda.
Always one to view the glass as half full, I have considered his predicament and come up with some positives:

1. Everyone keeps nice and warm and heating costs are reduced to the bare minimum, thereby reducing your carbon footprint.
2. You always have someone who'll listen, whether they want to or not.
3. If you blow off, no one can prove that it was you.
4. You can pass the time with a bit of frottage and no one will notice.
5. Should anyone be in the mood for a Flashmob 'event', you have the crew ready assembled.
6. If someone gets something contagious like measles, you all get it together and then it's over and done with, like a big Chicken Pox party.
7. No need for Facebook or Twitter.

Always looking for money saving opportunities, another thing that struck me about having a spell in Old Clinky, is that it's a good way of saving money, although not being good with languages I'd rather 'do bird' in the UK.

No rent, food or electricity bills. No Sky charges and free toilet roll. No house maintenance or redecoration costs, free laundry and a nice little job with a short commute.

Plenty of opportunities to do sit ups with no gym fees and as many free tattoos as you want, plus plenty of time to look at your photo's while relaxing in your elasticated waisters.

Of course, it's not all rosy and there are a few simple rules to follow.

Avoid giving the hogs any reason to put you on 'Shit Watch' by politely declining suggestions that you stuff a Motorola up your arse.

You want me to put it where?
That's a 'no' then.
Mind your back for snitches, dings and bacon-heads, don't become anyone's pet punk and keep your head down until it's Jam Roll time.
That's Clinky slang for 'parole', not your pudding.

Result? Frogskins in the bank.

Right, I'm off to knock off a Bobby's helmet.






Monday, 9 April 2012

I have written to Australia and Ozzy Osbourne in a blouse.

Cane toads are causing Australia a few problems again. The average weight of a Cane toad is 4lbs-the same as a monkey, and their skin is tougher than Kevlar. Those of you who have read my post on Eating frogs and toads will know that I'm not averse to a bit of amphibian for my tea, so, as with most of life's dilemmas, my advice is to eat the buggers.

Picture courtesy of http://larvalsubjects.wordpress.com/
Gary Neville trying to shake cat out.
Imagine the roast dinner that a 4lb toad would make.
It would be like having a small turkey or a large chicken with the added frisson of poisonous anal sacs. Presentation may cause a few problems as they're not what you'd call 'eye candy', especially after 2hrs at gas mark 5, but I'm sure everyone would enjoy dinner once they'd gotten over the shock.

Apparently the toads are eating local cats and are spreading at the rate of 20 miles a day, endangering other cats.

Ever the Good Samaritan, I have written to Australia with a long list of surefire solutions, one of which is to make hot water bottles out of them. There's probably not a lot of call for hot water bottles in NE Australia, but they could export them to colder places, creating jobs, improving the economy and saving cats.
Instead of giving children those fluffy fake animal hot water bottles they can have a Toad Hottie - 'Tottie'- to soothe them to sleep, although the claws tend to snag.
Ideal for the nervous child as you can tell it that the toad is their 'Protector' and it will watch over them as they sleep while exuding a smell of rotting fish innards which will keep hobgoblins and other Wrong-Un's (like Cameron), at bay.
Or for the child that won't go to sleep, place a 'Tottie' under the bed and tell the child that it's a monster that will bite off it's feet if it gets out or makes any noise.

Top notch expert child rearing advice, as ever.

Of course for Health and Safety reasons, the arse would need to be made leak proof  but that's the only 'downstairs orifice' they have-the arse. No front arse to worry about, much like a chicken. One way in and one way out. Makes life much more straightforward. A bit of grouting and you're done.

Worryingly, Dave found a Cane toad in the kitchen.
I used to work with a woman who saw a mouse and stepped on it on purpose. It's not like my job was chicken strangling or anything-this was a nice office job.
The mouse had strayed onto the works patio area and was being admired by my colleagues who were outside having a smoke, when Nutella and her Fuck Off trainers strutted over and stamped on it, like Ozzy Osbourne in a blouse.
I have retold this story in my letter to Australia and suggested they contact Nutella for assistance. She would soon get the toads under control after a few hours of purposeful double footed stomping, especially if she had the Riverdance music on her iPod.
Alternatively they could contact the woman who used to work at the Woolworths in Haverfordwest who entertained queueing customers by giving her 'sticky' till drawer Kung Fu kicks until it opened. She didn't look like she'd take any shit from a Cane toad either...





Wednesday, 4 April 2012

A penguin is basically a large, fishy chicken and The Free Elastic Band.

We make our own booze, but occasionally Bacchus creeps in and does a big stinking Tom Tit in the fermenting vessel.
Due to poor planning, the only drinking matter available is the Jerusalem Artichoke Gewurztraminer that I made back in November 2009 and despite it's impressive ageing, it still tastes like shite.
In fact, it's impressive ageing is a very good indicator of just how shite it really is.

It's not normal to shudder after every mouthful, but it's going down the hatch all the same. I refuse to buy wine, as most of my £2.49 goes to The Babby-Faced Shiny One, and I bet he already has a whole cellar full of Grove Manor and a couple of pet sommeliers.
So it's a matter of gritting your teeth before they dissolve and getting on with the task of enjoying a drink.
They say necessity is the mother of invention and, ever the Fred Whittle, I have come up with several very inventive cocktails to 'soften' the flavour of the wine. Being a generous soul, I thought I would share these gems.

1. Two thirds Camp coffee and one third Jerusalem Artichoke wine. 'Screaming Flatus'.

2. Half and half measure of milky Earl Grey tea and Jerusalem Artichoke wine. 'Earl Fartbanger'

3. Coconut milk, 'tropical' squash**, and Jerusalem Artichoke wine, in equal measures. 'Quacking Monkey'.

As you can see, there is a theme, but due to the ripsnorting qualities of the 'choke, this is inevitable.
I'm coming up so you better get this party started
To commemorate the 100th anniversary of the death of the heir to the male hairspray empire, Captain Robert Falcon Scott, I have devised a special cocktail based on his diet of champagne and penguins.
Not having any champagne, I used some Morrison's Savers Diet Lemonade, and not having any penguins, I used a can of Glenryck pilchards in brine, with a few spoons of chicken paste mixed in. I'm very pleased with my 'mock penguin' recipe as a penguin is basically a large, fishy chicken and it's quite hard to find them fresh in Haverfordwest.

4. Blend the pilchards and lemonade together, top up with Choke wine and finish with a layer of evaporated milk.
Voila. 'Sex in a Tent with a Penguin'.

Very excited today as I received a free elastic band with the post.  That's obviously what Albert Hammond was singing about.
"But I gave it up for music and a free elastic band..."
Wonder what he gave up? Cocktails maybe?

**Preferably Um Bongo.

Sunday, 1 April 2012

Charity shop clobber, Lardy Loons and Easter Udders.

As a treat we went round the charity shops in Haverfordwest yesterday (there's currently about 10 within walking distance of each other). I didn't get anything but Dave got two 'designer' tops for a total of £3.75.

The first one is to my mind, mildly unpleasant. I've seen episodes of Bullseye from 1986 where the contestants are wearing something similar. On the other hand it only cost £1.25 which was cheap, even in 1986.
It's made by a company called 'Lyle and Scott', which counts such fashion icons as Ronnie Corbett among it's fans. It has a 'logo' on it-a racing pigeon-as well as a pocket for his 'arra's.

Dave, rockin' the Gangsta Corbett look.
Dave likes it although he admits that this is mainly because of it's designer status (irredeemably shallow).
I asked him if he would have bought exactly the same top, had it not had the racing pigeon logo. Apparently not.
He looked up the price when he got home and it retails at around £45 squid. That's FORTY FIVE POUNDS for a T-shirt. The same price as a brand new, top of the range Micra Tena with metallic paint finish!
It's cut like any old T-shirt, the material is plain old T-shirt material and it has no magical powers.
Is it the logo that makes it so expensive? To me the logo says 'I love pigeons and I am both rich and stupid'.
Baffling.

The other one is more to my taste and made by Berghaus. It would've cost around £20 new, but Dave got it for £2.50.
So that's  £3.75 for clothes that would cost around £65, had we not waited for someone else to break them in and then get cheesed off with them.
Oddly, some people find the whole concept of charity shops abhorrent.
I know someone who is completely repulsed by the thought of wearing anything from a charity shop and  refuses to even go into one. But then he also irons crisp packets so obviously has 'issues'.
His loss.

Easter eggs.
Don't fall into the trap of buying cheap chocolate at hyperinflated prices just because it's egg-shaped and comes in a shoebox.
If you must have your chocolate egg shaped (weirdo), here's how to get it without lining Kraft and Nestle's already well lined pocket's, any further.

Blow up a balloon and rub it with a generous dollop of lard. This can be done in advance, but don't do it in a public place like a park or library because although you know what you're doing is perfectly innocent, others may think that you are some kind of perv and call the Feds.
Get your chocolate of choice and melt it in the microwave. When it has cooled down a bit (too hot and your 'loons will 'splode), spread it on your lardy balloon.
Leave it to cool.
Pop and remove your balloon.
A bit of lard on your chocolate is nice as it's like having some white chocolate mixed in, but if you find it all too luxurious, wipe it off the egg and save it for hair gel.

Voila. A rubbery tasting home made Easter egg with bits of balloon stuck to it. Who could ask for more?

You could have a go at doing an Easter Bunny if you're handy at balloon modelling and have a spare rubber glove. Or just leave the glove 'au naturel' and do an Easter Udder instead...which is what Easter is all about. Just say it's a Donkey Udder.

Don't throw away the shrivelled old lardy balloon as it makes a useful poultice for relieving any painful Chalfonts that you may have dangling around your under-tail area.
Lay a bag (don't use loose) of frozen peas on your gusset then attach the unknotted end of your lardy 'loon to your teatowel holder. Settle down like a hen, being sure to mould the peas into the relevant crevices.
I've heard that this remedy works best when reading The People's Friend and, as it's always easy to pick up a free copy from the local GP surgery, it's an economical choice of reading matter.

If inserted/removed carefully, this poultice should last for several applications.
Relard as necessary and store in the freezer. By the peas.
Dave's Easter message to Nestle.