Get in my mouth

Have snacks, will travel.

Having recently been on an excursion to the Czech Republic, there were lots of opportunities to fill my face with various offerings. Almost on every corner was a vendor or some kind of business selling the local delicacy; the chimney cake (or ‘Kürt?skalács’ as Google reliably informs me). It’s a sweetened flaky pastry baked around these hot rods making a little cocoon of joy. You then get to choose what you stuff into the aforementioned cocoon and the most popular choices were cream and strawberries, ice cream and strawberries, strawberries, ice cream, cream, some kind of minty option and any other variation I haven’t mentioned yet. They were/are delicious.

I am here though to speak about another “taste sensation” that came across my way whilst lumbering around in shops. Tell me, have you ever heard of a Corny Big?

Only the cool people call them ‘Corny B’.

No, I hadn’t either up until recently. It is best described as a cereal bar with the minutest of nutritional value, acres of sugar, possibly a full bag per bar, and the kind of chemical taste that you would need three goes from a mouthwash to get rid of. They were/are “delicious”.

I filled up part of the suitcase with a small selection to take back. I didn’t even get all the different flavours too as there were more hiding in other establishments that we were dawdling about in when waiting for a reservation at a restaurant. What stopped me from getting more? I do have some self-restraint sometimes I’ll have you know (someone told me not to go overboard…).

I only hope that there is a relatively cost-effective way of getting them to the UK so I can indulge some more.

Book surprise

Surprises, eh? Lovely stuff. They come in all shapes and sizes from a fist in the mouth to a great big cake shaped like Vince Vaughan. What you do for your surprise is up to you, or not as the case may be. If you want a specific surprise you have to be very direct to the person you want the surprise to be… ach, I’m not making much sense. It’s too early for thinking.

When I returned from work earlier on this week I was greeted with a mysterious parcel through my letterbox. I knew three things:

The item was thin (the packaging was super floppy)
The item was from Amazon.
I hadn’t ordered anything recently from Amazon.

I was completely surprised then to know that I was now in the possession of ‘Bedtime for the Burpee Bears’ by thoroughly nice person but also walking charisma vacuum Joe Wicks. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet but as I am about to go on holiday it would make sense to take it with me as a bit of light reading on the plane or in the hotel room. It’s an epic, 12 or 13 pages long, with additional exercise and recipe ideas which are, “perfect for sharing.” If anybody needs these things you know where to find me.

The mystery therefore stems from the question of whom would send me such a thing, who would be generous enough to send such a beautiful thing, and only two groups of people come to mind: my brother and my mischievous nieces, who are the most likely candidates, and Kevin and wor Ted.

I guess we’ll never know. I’m off to make a sunshine smoothie to wash down the banana pancakes.

Do I do the burpees before or after the food?

Where’s sodding Joe Wicks when you need him?

[redacted]

Four Word Reviews: Funky Dory

You know how, occasionally, something you’ve never experienced before is somehow just what you expected? That is how I felt when Rachel Stevens’ debut solo album, Funky Dory, went into my CD player. I more or less remembered the lead single, Sweet Dreams My LA Ex, but apart from that the main thing I knew is that it was a solo album from the best one out of S Club 7. Rachel Stevens evidently wanted to sound a bit more grown up now that she had thrown off the shackles of the other S Club 6, and it was 2003. Put those things together and you’ve got exactly what this sounds like.

A terrible goodbye

I don’t check the undertaker’s window very often, which means I don’t really keep myself abreast of all the latest undertaking fashions. That’s on me. It’s my problem and I’m doing what I can to address it.

Recently I paused at the window of an undertaker in Petersfield – a wealthy market town in the Hampshire countryside, so not exactly the haunt of the trashy or the tasteless. I expected that what I’d see through the window would all be sombre and reverent. But no: undertaking fashions have moved on, and I have been left behind. It turns out that even in the deeply traditional home counties countryside, picture coffins are now a thing. They had a window full of them.

Cardboard picture coffins.

Emergency bean grab warning

I don’t want anyone to be alarmed by what is about to happen.

Several terrible things have happened lately, you see. One is that I haven’t been able to review the album Funky Dory by Rachel Stevens because the only CD player in the house is a portable drive that connects to my laptop by USB, and my laptop is from the future so its USB ports are all the wrong shape, and I have somehow managed to lose all the adapters I ever owned. Some new adapters arrived yesterday.

Another terrible thing was waking up this morning, looking at the calendar, and realising that February only has 28 days. I thought it was probably around the 22nd anyway, which it isn’t, but the shortness of the month leaves me with only today to make another three posts if I’m going to maintain my years-long streak of full bean counts.

Anyway, this post is here to give you fair warning that it’s going to be a bumpy ride today, with new posts landing on a very tight schedule as I try to hit the full four posts for this month. (This post is also here to count as one of the four.) Good luck everybody.

What’s on your mind?

Ever since I saw the place over the weekend it’s all I can think about.

Please note

Hello patrons of Willie’s Blazin’ Wagons Wild West restaurant (Crewe).

Thank you for taking the time to read this notice. It means a lot to all of us.

You may or may not be aware that we have recently had a refurbishment and changed certain parts of the restaurant to fit the aesthetic more. Such a change has not occurred since the first Blazin’ Wagons restaurant opened in Wrexham in 1987.

The toilets are now unisex so you don’t need to decide between ‘partdners’ and ‘partdnistas’. All doors are now saloon doors for that authentic Western look. Originally we had a salad bar although that did not seem special enough so this was upgraded to a brand new Salad Wagon(TM). Sadly there was a mistake made at the printing company which was not picked up by an employee until three days later after it had already been out on the restaurant floor.

If you have seen or heard any references to a ‘Slaggon’ then please disregard these and cast them from your mind. The ‘Slaggon’ does not exist, and if it does, it is not what you think it is.

We have had repeated phone calls from both men and women for their respective stag and hen do’s to engage with the ‘Slaggon’ and we have had to be firm on the matter. We therefore reiterate the following:

You cannot hire the ‘Slaggon’.
You cannot ride the ‘Slaggon’.
You are unable to take the Slaggon out to your uncle’s pub, which is only a few miles away, and return it before the sun rises.

The sign has since been replaced and yet we are still subjected to numerous requests. Please, we are a respective family business and do not desire this level of unwanted attention. Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone who cannot take the hint. We trust this is satisfactory and hope you enjoy your time at Willie’s Blazin’ Wagons Wild West (Crewe) restaurant.