It's all seemingly gone a bit mad at the moment. Angry business suits abound, corduroy clad, torn cardigans and placard waving hotheads are roaming the western world looking to decapitate clandestine statues and loudly liberate the garish historical symbolism from its concrete shackle. Thanks to satellite broadcasting and the subsequent projectile vomiting of the Internet, every man and his dog now appear to have become one of those rather poorly dressed Muslim martyrs, burning flags, reclaiming parliamentary procedure and recycling old shopping carts to make into hideous objet d'art for general sale on eBay. For the love of your very own imaginary Ghod, just when we thought that the world was dying on its rather prominent behind and couldn't possibly get any worse, conversing in text speak, evolving blasphemous acronyms involving incomprehensible Fibonacci sequences, and overuse of that dreadful complex youth word of today, "whatever". I open my newspaper this morning, only to find, the extremely insolent puppies who hunker over nuclear buttons and drink ersatz coffee from waxen cups, have gone and outlawed the use of the humble necktie within our own Scottish parliament, Let me tell you, this rather annoying Gothic angularity has got to stop. It is playing havoc with my poker mornings over at Sammy the barbers on a Wednesday. However, what really gets my goat is the devilishly clever fiends who travel up from the nations capital, currently on their 3rd Aston Martin Vanquish, who entice the so-called downtrodden untermensch to throw stones at police horses, spray paint glass windows and generally cause mayhem and uproar in the name of political ambition.
I blame everything on the decline in standards in regard to our wardrobes. Everything in the world was just peachy until some awful, scruffy little troll (no doubt from the worlds anus - Belgium) decreed that a gentleman must no longer tuck in his good button-down collar shirts. Instead, as the new doctrine now dictates, all shirts are to flap languidly at the waist, square-jawed chins will remain unshaven, whilst expensive brown leather brogues, a true gentleman's uniform of distinction, will no longer be tolerated in favour of sports footwear, complete with untied and trailing laces. Where are standards I ask myself? A gentleman does not stop momentarily to pick his good lady a bouquet of fresh flora wearing Adidas tracksuits and Ubbly Bubbly designer plimsolls. One cannot possibly comprehend enjoying the delights of Cosi fan tutte, Soave sia il vento in particular, whilst reclining in a slouched position, adorned carelessly in a Slazenger pullover. As for this modernistic, if somewhat hedonistic approach to drinking an alcoholic beverage from a bottle whilst NOT at an outdoor barbecue event, I just won't do it I tell you.
No recipes today, the kitchen is temporarily closed for its pre-Christmas makeover. Instead, help yourselves to a nice spot of tea and a smashingly sticky bun.