Thursday, 13 March 2008
Cooking on Gas
I've decided to type as I can't watch TV anymore, and with each channel showing a cooking programme, I wont let TV ruin my day. This afternoon I turned my collar to the cold and damp and carried my boat into the water. But it wasn't my water, the water I was used too, the water that has seals in it and I can catch my dinner at night. It was brown with peoples furniture in it and the beach was a different shape. We've had storms...and it was like Apocolypse Now.. but Charlie did surf.
I set a small course and went up and down for just an hour or so as I was worried about getting back in time before the changing rooms were locked, which they were, 15 minutes early. Apparently this happens at centres of excellence...
Anyway I hate cooking programmes. I know I'm a hypocrite but when half the world is starving, I take exception to some twat telling me he'll be personally offended if I buy frozen pastry. Can you imagine when he dies and has to stand there naked before God? (who we know was never a great cook, what with the bread and fish thing) and God will look down from his big desk, and say "What did you do with the life I gave you?" And before Jamie Furnley Shithead can answer.. he'll be squashed. Because God doesn't give a toss whether he eats frozen pastry either.
But there is one TV chef I liked, and she's not on any more, because she's dead. The first ever TV chef was Fanny Cradock.
Her husband Jonnie used to introduce the programme, saying something irrelevant about the bottle of wine he was holding, and then as she began to cook, he'd start to drink it, all of it.
Anyway Fanny would cook some pastry or cake and Jonnie would get more and more pissed. Then he used to end the programme, and hardly able to stand, he'd sign off by saying "Good night! And I hope your donuts taste like Fanny's"
And I used to laugh and me dad used to laugh too.