Back with a Bang.
This is a sample of the fireworks I’ve bought specifically to annoy the neighbours.
Okay, that may be a lie. The fireworks are for David’s 21st Birthday. However, they will still annoy the neighbours. And that’s a shame because most of my neighbours are nice. In fact, the only one I would want to annoy is deaf and wouldn’t hear the bangs anyway.
So what have I been doing during my month away from Sunday Roasts?
What do you mean, you hadn’t noticed I was gone?
Yes, I took October off. It has been a trying year and I (a) needed to regroup, and (b) didn’t have much to write about. However, I did take a holiday.
That’s Aberystwyth, as seen from the castle, if you can still call it a castle. Another lovely weekend break with family. Good company, and good food. What could go wrong?
Now then, remember my mushroom moan from a while back on a previous holiday, and the fact many places seem to discriminate against them? This time it was Wetherspoons in Aberystwyth. What it is, I hate fried tomato and beans and don’t want them on my plate. My breakfast already came with one flat mushroom, so I asked if I could swap the tomato and beans for more mushrooms. And this is what I got …
Note to Wetherspoons. One extra mushroom does not represent a fair swap.
And the breakfast was cold.
And I would have complained had they the courtesy to ask if everything was all right with my meal.
Picky … me?
Ahh … Aberystwyth.
Got to love a shop with the name, Rickety Ramshackle.
On turning 50 …
Yes, you heard right. I have passed the dreaded number. Many people say I don’t look it and want to know the secret. All I’m saying is, there’s much truth to vampire stories and drinking the blood of virgins. Still, it can’t last. I live in Walsall. How many virgins do you think we have in the town?
Now I tried to keep the birthday low key. That was the motto. Mind you, it was a lovely surprise to receive a cake which somebody special got up at six in the morning to make for me.
However, it wasn’t as much a surprise as she had when I extinguished the candles and the dusting of icing blew up in her face like a volcanic ash cloud.
So … Low key! On my birthday, I thought going to a quiz with my family would manage to maintain that status. Unfortunately, the quiz was an event with the Aldridge Musical Comedy Society and I ended up having happy birthday sung to me by the entire company and sixty more of their friends.
I just don’t do discreet.
My birthday meal, proper was the next day, seeing as I was at the quiz. For an Indian, we usually go to the excellent Golden Moments in Walsall, but for a change, the family tried Five Rivers Restaurant in the town. Apparently, the chef cooked for the G8 conference years ago.
It was okay, but a touch overrated. Not only that, do you call these poppadoms?
Really? Well I don’t. They’re like giant Walkers Skips, and nothing more. And note … that’s a small plate.
The place is described as À la carte. Not too up on my French, but I now assume À la carte translates as meaning, small portions.
Yes, all very fancy, but why serve a dessert on a plate which was bigger than the one for my main course?
And would you like to see the main course?
What in the name of sanity? A stupid shaped dish with a hole in so when I poured the rice on, it fell through the gap and went all over the table.
But they cooked for President Clinton, I’m told. Yeah, and did he get served micro poppadoms and have to wait an hour between main course and dessert?
And a final note to Five Rivers. If you no longer serve a Bailey’s Bomb for dessert, take it off the bloody menu.
Golden Moments, I shall see you soon.
It is crazy, how the media go all gooey over certain footballers. Recently, every time I switch on Sky Sports, I hear pundits wetting themselves over how fantastic Luis Suarez is playing at the moment. Yes, Luis Suarez, the Liverpool striker. Or rather, Luis Suarez, the cheating racist thug who should have been kicked out of English football if Liverpool FC had any decency about them.
Here we see Luis, having a mid-afternoon snack of Branislav Ivanovic’s arm, earlier in the year.
There is simply no dignity with some football clubs.
And finally, in the garden …
I have done my last lawn trim of the year, cut the hedge and buried a cat. But I never expected to find what I did, living in my shed.
Possibly can’t see it, but top left of the pool of water (yes, I have a pool in my shed) is a frog. The pool is there because despite paying some guy last year to re-felt the roof, he missed the corner as it was difficult to get to … and now it leaks, and foliage grows, and I get frogs in residence.
It could only happen to me. But I think I shall keep the frog. I’m calling it Nimon.