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Friday, August 22, 2003

Is it just me... #2:

Is every day a National Non-Smoking Day, National Watch Your Speed Day, National Healthy Eating Day, National Respect For Retail Staff Day, or National Don't Accidentally Tread on Snails Day? Do these exist just so poor quality local TV and radio presenters can tell us something else about the day other than its a Friday in August? I'm sure I either read or heard that anyone can declare a national such-and-such day as there's no legislation involved, So therefore I'm proposing a National Stop Ramming your Point of View Down My Throat Day. It's where everyone just carries on as normal without some well-meaning do-gooder trying to save them from themselves with a well-intentioned but patronising National Day based around marketing their own world view as if it's that much better than mine.

Stav.

Is it just me... #1:

Do we really need a vehicle tell us it is reversing? Didn't we all know what a bus/van/wagon meant when it uttered "beep, beep, beep"? Do heavy vehicles crave our attention like a first-year theatre studies undergrad? What next, "this vehicle is changing gear/turning left/winding its passenger window half way down to get some fresh air in because the driver has eggy farts?

Just me then,
Stav.

Wednesday, August 13, 2003

Touch Sensitive

Like a one-legged nun in a clergy marathon I have some catching up to do. On Thursday night it was the second installment of work's hectic social itinery. This time it was off to a scruffy end of Wolverhampton (OK, scruffier), Monmore Green to be specific. And while it wasn't as green as it's name suggests it was much smarter and more impressive than my expectations or the surroundings had had me believe. One of the highlights for me was the bizarre sign language the paddock punters use to communicate odds and prices, with their arms waving like Jarvis Cocker mid-'Do You Remember the First Time' at Glastonbury 1995. One particular chap had me fixated, looking like a skinnier Michael Caine with face as still as a waxwork and limbs everywhere 'like a mad octopus' (© Bill McLaren-rugby commentator). As for the dogs, well I didn't do too badly actually, in fact had I not been drinking quite as heavily I would have been in profit. Even so I had a great night bet on about ten of the twelve races and had food and a few pints and my total spending failed to exceed seven pounds. On the way back some local pre-pubescent scallies shied rocks at the coach, anyone know if Wolverhampton is twinned with the Gaza Strip?


Friday night involved a number of pints, a pair of radio gods, The Crown Inn, good laughs, and a few cans back at the ranch afterwards. Saturday consisted of lying in bed, playing Championship Manager, and little else. Yesteday at work I smacked me noggin on a shelf, or more accurately the backet holding it up. My head started bleeding and the room spinning like it was a Friday night. I signed the accidnet book, and went home. I stayed away today and looked on the internet for safer jobs such as lumberjack, stuntman or John Leslie's PR adviser.

If anyone out there has any better ideas for a dangerous job, or anything really let me know, I want this here blog to be more interactive so input minions, thats what you are there for (and no, it's not cos I'm running out of things to say).

Stav.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

Food for Thought

Things have been suspiciously quiet in the Stavros camp, so I've turned my attentions to food. I will share these mental meanderings with you now.... come!

Being unable to answer the question of existance, natural progression led me to that other ultimate query in the philosophical canon, 'What is the greatest pizza topping?'. Of course it was the great writers and thinkers of the Roman age who first asked this question, Plato and his Greek chums being more concerned with the idea that if he turned his back on his bottle of ouzo would it still exist (the answer to that was 'not if that thieving drunkard Pythagoras is about').

Pizza isn't originally a Roman dish of course, it is Neapolitan, and the red tomato, white cheese and green basil represent the colours of the Italian flag. So using these basic materials how do we arrive at the perfect pizza. First let us decide what shouldn't go on it. Pineapples are fruit, and as such has no place in a main course (I know tomato is a fruit, but Cardiff City play in the English league, what are you going to do?). Ditto for olives, their place is in a glass of vodka martini, not on God's own dinner. All fish products are also out, as it is a can of sea-worms I don't want to open. Sweetcorn, sweetcorn is a tricky one, but I'm expelling it as eating it reminds me of how it comes out afterwards, and the diner table is no such place for those earthy thoughts. The flavour of peppers is a touch sharp for the pizza experience, and they often stay crunchy after cooked ruining our texture. Mushrooms are allowed, aslong as they are big and tasty and not those bland button variety. The best meat would have to be ham, beef and lamb are too chewy for this dish, but chicken can work as long as it isn't flavoured for some other meal (ie. Tikka or Barbecue). The best greenery for this occassion is actually spinach (scoff you not!), the flavour it brings out enhances the other flavours, unless it's cooked wrong and then it is like soggy seaweed and use only for the dustbin.

I think I have arrived at my answer to this centuries-old conundrum, the best pizza would be baked on a thin base, covered in the finest tomato and flavoured with basil, oregano, thyme and garlic. This would be topped with real Italian mozzarrella and just a touch of parmesan, and finally good quality salted ham with small amounts of mushrooms and spinach... and it would preferably be cooked by Monica Bellucci who would promise me a treat if I eat it all. I do hope it's ice-cream!

Stav.