One of the worst things about living over a creature that should’ve been aborted with hammers is that even when he is being quiet one is subconsciously waiting for him to make a fucking noise. It’s very stressful and perfectly indicates the intolerable conditions to which I have been accustomed. Last night for example, I think he went out, so I’m waiting for him to return with the dregs of humanity (as previously cited, he’s no friends so in order for some sort of human companionship he settles for the lonely looking jobless blokes you see hanging around bus stops looking at schoolgirls bottoms) and be all loud and cunty. But he didn’t return, I sincerely hope he’s been hospitalised on account of a natural response by a semi professional boxer with learning difficulties to his quite awful manner, and won’t pull through.
Despite the Sword of Cunts hanging over my head, I had a lovely evening. I cooked some top whack dinger, pasta filled with porcini mushrooms and Ricotta procured by Myfwt from some deli or other, and a home made sauce, indeed, a new Piqued sauce that I am going to tell you how to make. Now. Cut a large red pepper in half, deseed and shove on a baking tray with some peeled and halved shallots, roast them in the oven while you add some tomato puree, garlic, half a red chilli pepper, glug of wine, a couple of tablespoons of Crème fraîche and seasoning (plus your selection of herbs, I used rosemary, thyme and parsley) which you then blend with the diced roasted veg. It’ll knock you socks off. I can’t wait to try it with fucking lamb but I’m pretty sure it’ll go with anything.
We ate in front of the TV like they probably do in Eastenders or something to see the last of Hugh FW Chicken Run (review up on WWM tomoz, link right) before switching over to watch the beloved Russell Brand on E4+1 doing Big Brother.
The only downside to last night was that the surgery Myfwt undertook recently has developed a slight infection due to a sliver of nylon internal stitching having migrated to the outside world. It’s by no means serious and she’s not in agony, but it’s of mild concern which means that as I type this she’s had to go to the Hospital drop-in centre to have it checked out. Hopefully the sight of seeing a smashed-up Cunt with a priest over him will take her mind off the situation.
Strange offing from me today, this chap has a lovely voice (especially in the chorus) maybe due to lots of larynx soothing jitler, and I know a certain mate in Huddersfield will be rather chuffed.