I’m in a foul mood this morning; everything was going swimmingly until I switched on my fucking PC. First off I couldn’t access my emails, accessing ones emails at work is more important than breathing, then after con+alt+del 3 times my cunting mouse stopped working. This device was crushed underfoot like its namesake. When I finally did get things going (a full 30 minutes after I’d arrived) I noticed I was all hungover and anxious. Two days off the pop here I come. Two days sleeplessness to follow…
Needless to say my insomnia problems didn’t get a look in last night, I went to bed just after 1am following a gorgeous night with Myfwt. It began with a pair of ales with Frank before I went off in search of eggs/milk./flour etc.. You would’ve thought that those heathen cockmeisters Tesco would’ve pre-empted a rush on these ingredients, it being pancake day and them being the greediest grubbiest toilet chain of comestibles in the history of food stores, but no, the useless fuckwits had sold out of everything. Costcutter on the other hand *shudder* was resplendent with all the items so after much faffing I returned home to prepare supper.
During Masterchef (which I wrote about on Watch With Mothers yesterday, link right) I made fucking pancakes that caused Myfwt to utter ‘genuis’ after she’d eaten. My intention was to cook savoury pancakes and then have the ol’ lemon and sugar fellows after, but the savoury ones were so action packed we couldn’t eat another morsel. Get your pencils out, here comes a recipe… Obviously cook the pancake, I made quite dense ones but don’t over do it, and then fill with the following: rocket salad (half a packet, obviously it’s better to make it from scratch but I wanted to watch Horizon wot waz all about drugs –more on that later) with sliced cherry tomato, fresh prawns, griddled salmon steaks (which I cooked until crispy and then flaked into the salad) and then tossed the lot with aioli and seasoning. What’s particularly wonderful about this dish is that you can wrap the filling in torn off bits of pancake and shovel it into your maw like a fucking pig.
Horizon let itself down in three key ways. It did a bloody good job facing up to all the hysteria surrounding drugs perpetuated by the media, which must stand as the epitome of hypocrisy if you’ve ever been around people that do, but then just let it wander in and trample all over the fucking good it was doing. Firstly, the phrase ‘binge drinking’ its utter bollocks, a red-top buzz word, shouldn’t have been used. Period.
Secondly Leah Betts wasn’t mentioned, she should’ve been as soon as ‘E’ was heralded as a safe (let’s not beat about the bush here, the stuff is virtually harmless) drug with 0 known deaths you can guarantee all the fat middle-aged ignoramuses up and down the country would be having aneurysms about it. ‘What about Leah, WHAT ABOUT LEAH?!’ (Explode) Christ, I can hear them screaming from here…
Ironically Betts died at the hands of the media (she died because her brain swelled up after drinking too much water following sensationalised misinformation about E and de-hydration which was perpetuated by press and TV) and the same bunch of tools gave her father a soapbox from which to spout endless streams of pathetically ignorant guff.
Finally, the fucking music. A sitar and swirly distorted guitars do nothing to put me off taking drugs, quite the opposite actually. During the show, as I was being told how harmful doing shit was, I smoked two joints and drunk 2 thirds of a bottle of wine, I noticed Myfwt wasn’t holding back either. I went on to smoke another 3 joints, drink the rest of the bottle and start another.
Thank Horizon for the hangover.