Tuesday, December 4, 2012
So there I was in a chip shop thinking I have reached the pinnacle of my journalistic career.
The reason was my news editor Josh sent me out to taste deep fried Christmas pudding.
I’m not that keen on Christmas food, are you?
I mean, I like the wine that goes with it but turkey is at best bland and Christmas pudding is a bit rich and a bit sweet for my over-developed palate.
Anyway, once behind the counter – and there’s video to prove it – I felt rather at home.
I like chips you see.
Often, when I can’t be bothered to cook in my small flat with sea views (distant) (which is fairly often), I’ll pick up a haddock instead.
This week I’ve tried to cook but what do you do when you live on your own?
Cooking isn’t much fun and it’s a lot of effort to whip up a macaroni cheese when you’re single.
The trouble is you think you’ll freeze some but end up picking at it all night and then wondering why you never get any thinner and feel sick the next day.
Which, in a roundabout way, brings me to morning sickness.
Poor old Catherine/Kate, she’s had to go into hospital because she can’t keep anything down.
I haven’t had morning sickness but I know how she feels – too many gins has the same effect.
And Prince William didn’t look exactly pleased did he? He seemed to rush in and out without even acknowledging the world’s media – perhaps he’s got used to the attention after all these years.
Anyway it’s the hangovers that does it to me, isn’t it?
It’s all very well Christmas food but it’s the drink that kills you.
In a couple of weekends we’ve got our works Christmas “do”, I’ve already decided not to drink because I want to remember what I say – I’m as rude sober as sozzled - as well as wake up the next morning feeling vaguely normal.