Saturday

You Can All Go To Hell




... for the meagre sum of only €4.99. Of course, that is, once you have queued for the obligatory two hours in the hunt for the illusive all day parking space at the shopping mall that clearly doesn't exist. Only row after row of spotty faced young men in fluorescent tabards, busily connecting to the book of faces whilst directing your pride and joy into a space not large enough to park a bicycle. Gone are the days when, wrapped up in a warm winter woolie and a ridiculous hat, you would shuffle along the icy pavements, one hand secured to your nearest in height sibling, the other wiping the constantly running emunctions onto your charity shop mitten. It was always just the one mitten. They were shared out amongst the eleven of us and we were advised to keep one hand in our trouser pockets. The oul fella was very good at solving mathematical equations when he was down to his last shilling. We would stand outside of the bakers window and watch his festive display of a brightly coloured mechanical Santa rubbing his threadbare belly and patting his hardworking dwarf's on the head. We would laugh and watch until our cheeks became as red as wee Santa and the baker would bring out warm biscuits for us to munch upon. The oul fella would take a cheeky wee nip with him and we would move on to the next window and do the same thing all the way along the street. All gone now. Now we have anonymous malls. Once inside the magnificent glass edifice of Braehead, no wait, I'm getting confused with the Audi garage along the way a bit. Once inside the not so magnificent edifice of Braehead shopping centre, you can marvel at the lack of Christmas festivities taking place. The long faces of shopkeepers as they dust off the same tired old tinsel and red cracked baubles as they lament the quickening march of internet shopping. Everywhere, delightfully filipendulous Chinese manufactured elfin, dancing to the beat of the humming from ancient air conditioning. Small pockets of unlicensed traders, busily hawking genuine Scottish shortbread in hushed tones, of which was not surprisingly made in an industrial kitchen somewhere near Chechnya. And then, there it was. Tired, still dusty, probably rescued from broken excess stock from the busiest outlet of them all, the latest delightful addition at 'The Pound Shop.' I was delighted to see that the price of going to hell in a wooden, Christmas related, bespangled Taiwanese handcart, was again on offer this year for under a fiver. Bob Cratchit and tiny Tim will be turning in their grave.

This year I have been besieged with requests for playing the part of Mr Claus at my own company celebrations. It is the one time of year when my particular wheels of industry are allowed to grind to a halt and we lay on a bash for those good enough to tolerate my ill humour, lack of tanquam and a general desire to see everyone ombrophilous in their work throughout the rest of the year. What type of sadists lurk under my employ if they wish to unleash a battle-scarred, whisky-breathed pug such as me upon their offspring? Can you imagine the nightmares, the bed-wetting and the mental repugnance that this will inevitably lead to after the event? The weeping and the caterwauling will continue long after lights out on Christmas eve. And then there's the children. I can only think it is a ploy and that the kids will be too frightened to step out of line and mess with the whole good behaviour routine as the build up to Christmas begins. "Behave yourself now, otherwise the Frankenstein Santa will bite off your head and eat your brains when you meet him at uncle Jimmy's Christmas do." At one point last year we did think of asking a short acquaintance of mine to play the part of Mr Claus, especially as he frequents a Peter Pan-esque reality on a regular basis. The only problem was that the kids would be getting confused when they were asked to name the other most famous of dwarf's. Most got the Sleepy, Grumpy, Dopey and Bashful characters, but they were pretty stumped when it came to recalling 'Drunky'. Me personally, I think I have been asked to play the role since my return from the time in the sun. I appear to have developed the slight beginnings of a belly. Don't blame it on the sunshine, don't blame it on the cocktails, don't blame it on the good times, blame it on the barbecued goodies.

I am soon to depart to deepest darkest England to patch up the rift between me and a rather pretty wee train traveller with a somewhat 80's tattooed face. I hope she likes flowers. I was thinking perhaps along the lines of self-raising. Strangely enough, I miss her.

Chefs Luxury Saturday Toast

I large fresh egg
1 egg white
1 tsp brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
3 slices whole grain bread
1/2 cup fresh strawberries, blueberries, bananas or raspberries
2 tsp of golden syrup

Heat a skillet, crack the egg and egg white into a porcelain bowl. Add the sugar and cinnamon and beat until well mixed. Pour a generous glass of single malt, tilt head and pour slowly down throat until a certain glow appears in your cheeks. Dip the bread into the egg mixture before placing into skillet for 3 minutes on each side. Remove bread and dress with the fresh fruit and drizzle lightly with the syrup. For those of Scottish descent, eat while still warm, alongside a cup or three of decent whisky laden tea to accompany the first and most important meal of the day.

37 comments:

  1. It's 6:45 in the AM over here. I just made myself an egg sandwich and a hot toddy (bourbon, hot water, lemon and honey). Saturdays are awesome!

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    1. I'm liking your choice of breakfast beverage my friend, what better way to start off the long awaited weekend?

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  2. A charming title i'm sure. It is times like these when i wonder exactly why I sit upon the toilet with a kindle, bottle of lager and think of you.

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    1. Do you really want an answer from me on this one Anthony?

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  3. Anonymous4:57 pm GMT+5

    Warmed biscuits and crunchy snow underfoot. You make me homesick for such a city that has remained under my skin even after so many years away from its heart. You once blogged that you can never leave Glasgow for long in case it forgets about you. I understood that remark and it has stayed in my mind ever since it forgot about me. Thank you for mentioning typical Glasgow life, things that I haven't heard for quite a time.

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  4. Ive been to hell a few times, everytime we play one of those soft London clubs down in puffville. Being in hell is a couple hours beneath ground in the underground system. Nice toast, but spoilt by all that healthy crap. Nowt wrong with a spread of pork dripping and a tomato.

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    1. Pork dripping, white pepper and just a smidgen of salt to infuse the tang of the jelly. We grew up on it pal.

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  5. Luke 12:5 - But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him.

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    1. You slipped this one by me while my attentions were elsewhere. Naughty!

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  6. Revelation 21:8 - But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars--their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death."

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    1. Okay, let me know how that works out for you.

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  7. Battle scarred and whisky-breathed is pretty much how I view "Mr. Claws" anyway.
    I find the entire idea of an old man who watches children all year to see if they're good or bad CREEPY!!
    It's caused some interesting Christmases in my house as both of my children believed in Santa (one still does).
    As for going to hell, darl, I have been there a few times.
    It dries my rather fair skin.

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    1. Going to hell merely means that all your friends are in the same place.

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  8. Your mob was lucky the day.

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    1. 'A Peter Pan-esque reality'? If only.
      'Drunky'? Quite possibly.
      Pint?

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    2. Your sorry mob were dead in the water Maurcheen right up to the 90th it was only 2 lucky goals in injury time that saved the day.

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    3. A terrible thing bitterness.

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    4. It wasn't looking good when they banged in the equaliser right on the stroke of h/t. However, considering that we have such a crucial midweek game coming up, I didn't think we did that badly. The fact that we were always looking like scoring kept our spirits up, not to mention a good session at Jonjo's. The scoreline reflected our determination if nothing else. And as they say... 3 points is three points. Still top, still unbeaten.

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    5. It wasn't looking good? An understatement from your very lips. They were shocking and it was plain to see. They were fortunate and thats were it ends JB.

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    6. Och, pish! I was there, my own eyes saw what my brain calculated to be a slow start but a fast finish. You just concentrate on what is going on in the diddy league oul son, eh?

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  9. My father disapproved of Christmas....it got in the wayof practising for hogmanay.....but he was present when one of his sisters took me (when too small to protest effectively) to visit Santa's grotto at a major department store.

    You didn't have to sit on his knee to know that Santa had drink taken....as I commented once free of the ritual touching of elves.

    Of course he's drunk, said father. Why else would he be sitting down with a bunch of fairies.

    Aunt black affronted we left the store.

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    1. Ah, I am sensing a true Scotsman here, the dastardly abomination that holds up the true celebration of the season. Hogmanay. We still first-foot with coal around these parts, but then again we are a community of die-hards who still believe in tradition without the glare of tinsel.

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  10. Mr Billicoddle10:27 pm GMT+5

    Attached to a sibling of your own height? Away man, not many kids of seven outside of the Guinness book of records is there?

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    1. Your poor vocabulary and accent give you away Cheesus. Away now, as is my wishy, go and prepare a little fishy for your dishy before the boat comes in.

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  11. Well, as an Elf for Life in our family Christmas tradition, I'm only thankful they don't make me wear a costume. Although I did get the young nephew a hat with elfin ears when he was five. I fear he will gift it back to me now that he's turned 14 and closing in on a foot taller than me. :)

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    1. Many a small person is large of heart my dear, you stand tall over many.

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  12. Oh, you don't scare me, Mr. Claus. i'll be the first to offer to sit on your lap... And i'm sure the bulge in your pocket is just your flask!

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    1. Actually no, my flask is in the other pocket. It would seem as though you may have just discovered your Xmas surprise.

      Surprise!!

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  13. I have taken delivery of two truck loads of flour and am now in the process of building a website to launch my budding cupcake emporium... I have a unique selling point inasmuch that I am using bloomers and baps instead of cake.
    Meanwhile, thank you for the flowers.
    Sx

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  14. I'm pleased you liked the flowers, you have no idea how long I waited for the graveyard to empty before I made my final choice.

    I always did like your bloomers, thank you for sending me a sample. They also took two trucks to deliver the one pair.

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  15. I could eat that right now, oh it looks and sounds lovely.

    Shopping malls however are the embodiment of much that is wrong with the world and I avoid them like the plague.

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  16. You are in luck! I have just prepared a fresh batch and am busily smothering them in fresh fruits of the forest.

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  17. I must tell you that the post title scared the hell out of me. I thought “What had I done? Are you leaving us again?” and rushed to look for a helmet, just in case a terrible storm would be hitting your domains.

    Anyways… I’m not in hell yet, Chef but I’ll be burning there for eternity paying for my sins (lust, basically) that’s for sure.

    A drunk Santa? That’s prolly the reason why he was sacked and the Three Wise Men were hired to bring toys to the children. This is our way of reducing the unemployment rate.I bet you'll be a wonderful Santa Claws ;)

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  18. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that familiar landscape outside our old cottage. It's the same when I watch 'Last tango in Halifax.'- so reminiscent of our own romance - makes me cry a bit- but in a happy way. You may enjoy it.
    Glad you have made it up with Scarlet.

    Surely your height will give you away? Love Drunky:)

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  19. It's a smashing photie of you hen, that is why I borrowed it from you. As for me watching a weepie? Naw, never going to happen. I have little emotions for girlie things, sorry. As for Scarlet, so am I. I think she is smashing, only don't tell her I said so.

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Thank you, the chef is currently preparing an answer for you in the kitchen. Do help yourself to more bread.