The Strawberry milkshakes are back! Yes it appears the power of the “little guy” has been undiluted by faceless corporations serially not giving a shit. It can only be my irritated yet superbly argued fifteen page e-mail that has reversed the ludicrous policy which gave us “wild cherry”.
Sadly, this week I can’t have one. I dribbled like one of Pavlov’s hounds when it became apparent that the sugary feast that features in almost no diet books was back on the menu. But no, slapped as ever by the fickle fingers of fate, even this small pleasure will be denied me. Worse still, a rigid moratorium on both beer and coffee extends to that endless horizon called the weekend – BEER AND COFFEE. Is this fair? No, of course it isn’t. I am wondering who to complain to.
I’d like to say that after two caffeine and lager free days, I feel refreshed and detox’d. But no, actually I feel a bit like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. No wonder sober people look so bloody miserable. And until today I never realised I was a ‘fruitest’ but on examining the grocers shop masquerading as my desk, I couldn’t help but whimper “but where’s the bacon sandwich? Is it behind the Orange? No, and how couldn’t I have bought all this stuff whilst stone cold sober? I don’t even know what a sodding komquat is never mind exactly what you’re meant to do with it“.
Maybe later, I’ll try and explain what has brought all this on. However, the kettle has boiled and I’ve a lovely speciality tea waiting for me. It’s probably plum and arsehair or something. I now know how heroin addicts feel when being weened off onto methadone.
But am I grumpy? No coffee, no beer, no prospect of either for a few days. Take a wild bloody guess.
6 thoughts on “Hip Hip, Strawb-rey”
Dieting? No that can’t be it……Hang on, you’ve been “told” haven’t you? By a man in a white coat, I’ll wager…
Well I have put half a stone on since I started working here. So there’s a number of trouser fitting motivational issues as well. But yes, the best medical science can currently offer is to whisk away my few remaining culinary pleasures…
This morning I had water based porridge. That’s what they called it. I call it Gruel.
Sympathy from me, old man. I’ve actually started riding again (well, a little bit, although the bottie seems to be getting reamed by a once-comfy saddle) in order to try to reduce the blodge. Almost 13 stone now, courtesy of 18 months lack of severe discomfort and barely controllable GAS for new bikes.
“This morning I had water based porridge. That™s what they called it. I call it Gruel.”
I call it cruel. I also call it pap, but that’s a different issue.
Hope it works for you.
Hello Toni! How’s are you? Glad you’re back on the bike. Hope to see you for a ride sometime this summer. Drying out nicely here.
Gruel is just nature’s way of saying you’re too fat for bacon. I did consider dumping a bottle of maple syrup into it just to push it over the boundry of edibility but apparently this is missing the point.
When I cut down on the booze for lent the wife and I took up smoothies. But a bunch of tinned fruit, and put in mixer for breakfast or after a ride. Of course it’s not beer, but it stops you from clawing out your eyes. (Of course, the other option is to take up drinking SKOL for a week, that should put you off beer for a good month).
H’mm. Smoothies 🙂 I’m guessing chucking a shot of vodka in is kind of missing the point. I tried rice cakes the other day. Imagine a dry popcorn sandwich nestling between two slices of cardboard. Only worse, much, much worse.