Month: April 2010

You can’t have your cake and eat it
The cake market in the UK is worth about £3 billion. If people didn’t eat the cake they bought, there’s a huge stockpile somewhere.

Best men are usually hopeless. They have been chosen on the basis that they they are the best friend of the groom which is no reason to select anyone for such an important job.

This morning on  Radio 4 anchorman John Humphrys used the expression ‘with respect’ before tearing into Liberal Democrat Chris Huhne who was attempting, and failing, to extol the virtues of the now-popular-formerly-dull Lib Dem leader Nick Clegg. What followed was a huffety puffety diatribe from Huhne, who was feeling less than respected.   Huhne was having a girlie strop.   Lies Lies Lies is impartial. We have no political bent because it is taken as read, by us, that all politicians lie. In this seemingly unending election run in the UK we’ve heard scores of lies in numerous interviews. To claim a politician is a liar is to state the…

here’s plenty to fear. Earthquakes, tsunamis, holocausts, military dictatorships, nuclear weaponry, terrorists, box jellyfish, serial killers, risotto recipes, killer dogs, deadly snakes, people at dinner parties who like Woody Allen.

Girls who say they are not hungry and then, having ordered a salad, start taking food off your plate. Bad.

The new non-stick pan is the kitchen equivalent of Eddie the Eagle. Bacon shows little resistance and sausages roll and skip across the surface like skippety lambs on a spring day. Beans exit in a similar fashion to that of cinema audience leaving a screening of Police Academy 6

You go round your friend’s house and as you walk in the hallway there is a dog the size of a zebra, foaming at the mouth and baring its teeth. It’s growling that most gut-wrenchingly scary growl that you know is a precursor to a savage attack.

Not technically boots or even footwear, more foot/ankle/legwear that, in the initial stages, is something Guantanamo torture experts would have been pleased with. Putting on a brand-spanking new, rigid-as-a-dartboard 10-hole ‘Air Wear’ Dr Marten boot is like strapping a cast iron drainpipe to your leg; there is little resistance and, although it affords you the pleasure of leaning over at any angle – Michael Jackson smooth-criminal-style – it forces you to goosestep until the ‘running-in’ period of three months is over. You can, if you like, pummel the leather with a tent mallet, but that won’t help. Nor will a…

Caramelise is a posh way of saying something’s burnt. It’s the ultimate get-out for people who haven’t been paying attention when they’ve been cooking. Imagine your partner saying: ‘Here you are, darling – your toast has been perfectly caramelised to your liking.’ ‘No honeybun, you’ve bloody burnt it.’

This is a trades descriptions horror. It all looks very inviting. Pleasant, friendly people run fairground rides – you know this because they generally have ‘love’ tattooed on one knuckle. They have ‘hate’ tattooed on the other one, but let’s forget about that. Then there are the rides. They are fantastically safe and they’re also a hoot aren’t they? Let’s consider ‘the Waltzer’ for example. You sit in a nice chair that goes up and down and around and around. Then a very nice man – with tattoos – comes and spins you around some more. You may have paid…