You’re the One For Me, Fatty
Christ, what a fat bastard. It’s lunch time and I am still full from last night. And it’s all Mrs. Toad’s bloody fault. She’s away for a week being important in God Bless America and, despite being the least domesticated woman in the universe, she always fears that on these occasions I won’t eat well. It’s an amazingly uncharacteristic instinct for her, and hence I find it really rather touching.
She may have a point, too. I eat just fine, but my diet tends to consist entirely of raw carrots and peppers because I can’t be arsed cooking, along with tins of sardines, pots of Middle Eastern yoghurt and jars of rollmops. See – that’s a balanced diet! Sort of.
Anyway, before she goes away for an extended period of time she tends to cook a big pot of one of her rather excellent stews, and I just graze on it through the week. I love this, because she is an extremely good cook, and they tend to be excellent. This week, however, she made a fantastic tortilla with loads of garlic and stuffed full of some wonderfully squishy Spanish black pudding. Fuck me it’s gorgeous. So needless to say, when I got home last night I started munching. And then went back for seconds. And then thirds. And Christ, I’m full – still. Mmm, but it was good though. And there’s still just a little bit left for tonight…
Sparklehorse – Little Fat Baby
Ben Folds – All U Can Eat
I have no idea what this post is about because I had to turn away after looking at that photo, which gives me what Euan euphemistically called “the poke.”
Boak
And yes, yes it does, doesn’t it. I like to imagine a toothless prostitute in her sixties giving him a gum-job under the desk, just for extra chunk-blowing goodness!
Carrots, peppers and sardines? You don’t, erm, take the bus to work, do you? And do you wash down those carrots, pepers, and sardines with a generous helping of fig newtons and a frosty glass of highly carbonated prune soda?
No, gin mostly.
Boke, right. Or boak?
Given it’s slang, can there be a right and wrong spelling? I think ‘boak’, but I am foreigner and hence new to the language.
Not “boque,” or perhaps beauxk”? “Poke” is something altogether different I expect.
Would that be the Spanish Morcilla black pudding out of Peckham’s? If so, it is rather wonderful.
Try it in an omelette with some chorizo. Excellent.
A poke is an ice cream.
Though that might just be a Northern Irish thing.
Yes Dylan, that’s the stuff. Fucking magic, so it is.
A poke here is chips (no C&B, not the other thing – that’s called gettin yer hole).
And not crisps either, actual chips. Fucking Mercans.
Chips? As in a Glasgow salad?
C&B – you don’t want to know what “the poke” is…….
HEY! IT’S VEG, IT COUNTS!
seriously guys. “a poke”…………..in Dundee you’d need to add the words “of chips” to stop you getting a slap.
Well? Explain?
it’s teenage dundonian speak for a bit of fingering………i.e. I poked her……….
I always knew you were a romantic, Euan.
let me clear it up…..when I say fingering…..most boys generally did “poke” the girl and that was it. it could in no way be described as foreplay or pleasant! lets remember that dundee has the highest teenage pregnancy rate in europe…..that’s definitely not because of the highly romantic individuals that live there!
That’s a whole new take on chips n’ dips.
salt n’ sauce with that?
suppose that depends on the time of the month…………………
…………………and to think I am going to be a father. shame on me.
wait?……in dundee they’ve acquired some way of impregnating lasses with their FINGERS! eeegads, now you scots have really done it all. no comment on the lardy or we’ll be right back to the old cow conversation that got me into all this mess in the first place, matthew, i warn ya, i will put “dancing in the moonlight” on the stereo today if necessary!
well you know what they say. Done Time. Done Drugs. Dundee.
i love my home city.
Just to think of it on the stereo anywhere in the world makes me shudder. It’s like a fucking dog whistle – I may not hear it, but it hurts my eardrums nonetheless.
And think about it, evolution probably demands that Dundonian men learn to impregnate women with their fingers. Would you let a Dundonian’s scabby little science experiment of a penis anywhere near you? It was fingers or extinction.
*ducks*
All together now…
“Doo-bee-doo… doo-doo-doo…”
hahahahahaha.
or they could just move city……..seems easier than fingers or extinction.
ps. you’re fukin dead.
From a Dundonian, that’s actually quite a scary threat.
dead.
What The Fucking Hell Are You Lot On About? I Go Away For 3 Weeks & The Word Mentals Gets A New Definition.
A Poke down here, by the way, is canine fucking a drunk tart up against a skip in a back alley.
Here I spend just a few hours in the clean world and what do I return to? Filth! The very air reeks of it. Gettin’ yer hole? A bit of fingering? Salt ‘n sauce? Odious. And do you also yell out “pudding for one”! when you download your man cargo? Or is that just me?
See, now you’ve got to explain “skip,” DC.
I was more confused by “canine fucking”.
I think it’s a descriptive term, Bart, rather than a zoological one.
(And a skip is a dumpster, C&B)
What’s worrying is that this post now has more comments than the last three put together.
Are you sure this is a music blog?
I do wonder. Actually, Mrs. Toad said the same thing: I put all that work into the Loch Lomond video and interview, and posting ‘Oh it’s Friday, let’s get drunk’ garners way more comments. She mocked me, the bitch.
Surely that’s Father Christmas in the picture, after one too many sherries and never mind the carrots after all? I recommend cooking some chorizo till the fat runs from it and then frying an egg or two in that – the white will go a bit pinkish but the whole thing will be infused with the heat of the oil and it’s lovely. In fact if you slice the chorizo lengthways you can then dip it in the egg after and almost pretend it’s streaky bacon. I dunno why dundee is so proud of the teen pregnancy rate. You should go to rotherham, they’re working at teen grandparents there.
I haven’t even STARTED drinking yet! So watch it with the “drunk tart” comments over there! And ya brought all this randiness on yerself, Matthew by blogging about fat men and gorging whilst the “better half” is away. You expected comments of gratitude for hard work? Sober up man! xxoxo
Hello Adam, long time no see. That does sound rather good – especially if the egg is all runny.
Tart, stop being a smart-arse. I didn’t bring this on myself this is a perfectly respectable article written on an intell… um, an intellec… oh, er, yes I take your point.
Dumpsters have lids.
Just thought this article was in keeping with the whole tone hereabouts:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/08/27/obese.prosecution.ap/index.html
DON’T MAKE FUN OF FAT PEOPLE THAT’S PERSECUTION!
Getting back to that post – what in god’s name is a rollmop?
What post? Oh right, I almost forgot.
A rollmop is a fucking delicious form of pickled herring with lots of onions and I think juniper berries. Bloody lovely things.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rollmops
Down these parts, a RollMop is a canine fuck up against the recycling bins with TWoTH, after elevensies have been served on a doily-splashed lazy-tray, & after she’s just finished dusting the high corners in the study.
Rollmops are fantastic things.
Although I saw a supermarket package the other day where they had been branded as Herring Rollmops.
I suppose that’s as opposed to chicken rollmops, or vegetarian tofu rollmops.
There are some idiots out there.
I suppose those idiots are the reason they’ve had stop fixing the rollmops in place with little wooden sticks – because there are idiots out there who would try and eat them.
Up there with microwavable frozen mashed potatoes. & the microwavable frozen big mac & fries. With relish. Food for those who have jammed the lazy switch to ‘on’ & literally need spoonfeeding. For everything. Like those who buy iPhones.
Grrr. Let’s not mention those abominations, shall we.