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» Food sabotage
hubris - via much pink c on on the red flowery t's
This tale is spun from the glorious days that were home economics/ food technology/ cooking lessons / whatever name it is the government gives to the double period where children can legally be placed in a room filled with sharp pointy objects, hot things and hormones and left barely supervised.
The being charged with looking after thirty of us in one year nine class was a Mrs. Lovejoy. I don't think sharing this matters as regards identity, she is bound to have left now anyway as what I am going to relate happened many moons ago. Plus it has to be one of the more inappropriate names for a teacher. Anyway, it's probably the fate of most teachers to be singled out for something for which they can easily be mocked, somewhere along the line. But this particular teacher made it very easy.
Tights.
Yep, that simple. Maybe not that funny or clever but effective nonetheless at keeping us entertained amongst ourselves. Maybe we were just that bored, or the heat from all the ovens had a strange effect on us. But every day, come hail or high water she would wear some pair of strange/ novelty / decorated tights. There were the relatively normal black fishnet ones with a flower pattern, but then there were the red chessboard pair, the stripes ... the tights and sandals in the summer... an old spin on a British holiday classic.
So where is the food in all this? Very well placed as it happens. In fact, it wasn't so much the food that was sabotaged, as the food that acted spontaneously on the behalf of some very grateful pupils to do the act itself.
Perhaps another truth about teachers is there is always one thing they will nag you on. Well, Mrs L was very hot(sorry...as you'll see) on the subject of heatproof gloves. Almost to the point of compulsion ... even to carrying things in a cold bowl that had been standing for ages!
Then came the day when we were each making various desserts. Everyone was doing their own thing as second period started and Mrs L was bustling around helping. She came up to the lucky soul who was making custard. This was not just any custard, this was Barbie's finest luminous pink, extra thick, instant custard. And it had been in the microwave for a good few minutes as Miss (plus tights) trotted up.
*Beeeeeep* I am at the table one over at this point, I hear a joking comment about the need for ovengloves made by a class mate, before I hear the immortal and soon to be fatal riposte sound from the lips of Mrs Lovejoy.
"I don't need oven gloves: I have asbestos fingers."
...
And so, flying in the face of all her own advice she removes the chalice of Barbie pink, extra thick custard from the innards of the microwave, bearing it triumphantly to the adjoining work surface. Until, seconds later, the rudely awakened Barbie pink, extra thick custard bestirs itself indigantly and communicates sharply via the old-fashioned but still sound means of the nervous system that yes, yes it is too hot and she might like to do something about it.
She does. Drops it. (Or more accurately, launches it decisively) Bowl flys to the floor and smashes. Love-ing the Joy of its new freedom, the Barbie pink, extra thick custard seeks to drive its lesson home - it heads instinctively for where it knows the damage will be personal, searing, lingering.
Seconds later there is pink custard all over her favourite tights, as well as the floor, work surface, table and, somehow, the microwave by now several feet away. And not only that, but her favourite pair: red and flowery this time. And yes, if anyone needed convincing that red and pink clash, there it was emblazoned in hot custard-searing glory.
There was an instant awestruck silence. She gazed round the room as thirty pairs of eyes shone back the reflection of her own hypocrisy, her pride reduced to the shattered shards of a standard school glass mixing bowl. Sabotage by custard, and literally by her own hands.
And there I shall leave her, standing in the dim mists of my memory ... later having to face the poor pupil whose custard it had been, and as a final insult, having to make a replacement batch. I can't remember what the custard was even supposed to be gracing. But things changed after that day, we never forgot... And yes she still wore tights, but more importantly, she always wore oven gloves.
(Fri 19th Sep 2008, 0:24, More)
hubris - via much pink c on on the red flowery t's
This tale is spun from the glorious days that were home economics/ food technology/ cooking lessons / whatever name it is the government gives to the double period where children can legally be placed in a room filled with sharp pointy objects, hot things and hormones and left barely supervised.
The being charged with looking after thirty of us in one year nine class was a Mrs. Lovejoy. I don't think sharing this matters as regards identity, she is bound to have left now anyway as what I am going to relate happened many moons ago. Plus it has to be one of the more inappropriate names for a teacher. Anyway, it's probably the fate of most teachers to be singled out for something for which they can easily be mocked, somewhere along the line. But this particular teacher made it very easy.
Tights.
Yep, that simple. Maybe not that funny or clever but effective nonetheless at keeping us entertained amongst ourselves. Maybe we were just that bored, or the heat from all the ovens had a strange effect on us. But every day, come hail or high water she would wear some pair of strange/ novelty / decorated tights. There were the relatively normal black fishnet ones with a flower pattern, but then there were the red chessboard pair, the stripes ... the tights and sandals in the summer... an old spin on a British holiday classic.
So where is the food in all this? Very well placed as it happens. In fact, it wasn't so much the food that was sabotaged, as the food that acted spontaneously on the behalf of some very grateful pupils to do the act itself.
Perhaps another truth about teachers is there is always one thing they will nag you on. Well, Mrs L was very hot(sorry...as you'll see) on the subject of heatproof gloves. Almost to the point of compulsion ... even to carrying things in a cold bowl that had been standing for ages!
Then came the day when we were each making various desserts. Everyone was doing their own thing as second period started and Mrs L was bustling around helping. She came up to the lucky soul who was making custard. This was not just any custard, this was Barbie's finest luminous pink, extra thick, instant custard. And it had been in the microwave for a good few minutes as Miss (plus tights) trotted up.
*Beeeeeep* I am at the table one over at this point, I hear a joking comment about the need for ovengloves made by a class mate, before I hear the immortal and soon to be fatal riposte sound from the lips of Mrs Lovejoy.
"I don't need oven gloves: I have asbestos fingers."
...
And so, flying in the face of all her own advice she removes the chalice of Barbie pink, extra thick custard from the innards of the microwave, bearing it triumphantly to the adjoining work surface. Until, seconds later, the rudely awakened Barbie pink, extra thick custard bestirs itself indigantly and communicates sharply via the old-fashioned but still sound means of the nervous system that yes, yes it is too hot and she might like to do something about it.
She does. Drops it. (Or more accurately, launches it decisively) Bowl flys to the floor and smashes. Love-ing the Joy of its new freedom, the Barbie pink, extra thick custard seeks to drive its lesson home - it heads instinctively for where it knows the damage will be personal, searing, lingering.
Seconds later there is pink custard all over her favourite tights, as well as the floor, work surface, table and, somehow, the microwave by now several feet away. And not only that, but her favourite pair: red and flowery this time. And yes, if anyone needed convincing that red and pink clash, there it was emblazoned in hot custard-searing glory.
There was an instant awestruck silence. She gazed round the room as thirty pairs of eyes shone back the reflection of her own hypocrisy, her pride reduced to the shattered shards of a standard school glass mixing bowl. Sabotage by custard, and literally by her own hands.
And there I shall leave her, standing in the dim mists of my memory ... later having to face the poor pupil whose custard it had been, and as a final insult, having to make a replacement batch. I can't remember what the custard was even supposed to be gracing. But things changed after that day, we never forgot... And yes she still wore tights, but more importantly, she always wore oven gloves.
(Fri 19th Sep 2008, 0:24, More)
» Food sabotage
a long journey
(this is only my second or third post around here, after some professional lurkage, so usual pleas for niceness!)
For several years I have worked as a plumber, sometimes on and off with my brother if the job required. As you can imagine it is a trade rife with oppurtunites for food sabotage.
So this one particular job I went to was at some old place in the middle of nowhere. My brother was nowhere to be found on this occasion, so must have be skiving. The owner was nowhere to be found, but had kindly left me a note on the door.
This old place was in fact to all intents and purposes a castle, and in need of renovation. Clearly I was to be left to get on with the job, so started trying a few doors, but many of them were locked.
Then, and this is where my memory gets a bit hazy, I found a door that opened I suddenly found myself in a strange space, which I presumed be more of the castle grounds. There was this huge black dog like creature chained in a yard, that I had to be careful to avoid. There was lots of money to be found lying around too, which is perhaps how I was to be paid. A cash in hand job, which suited me fine.
It soon became apparent that to leave this strange courtyard and return to the castle I had to get past this big black guy. He didn't talk much, but the implication was I could be in big trouble if I didn't get passed him. Thankfully, I re-discovered how athletic I could be, a bi of a surprise given my rotund figure, and soon found myelf doing all kinds of jumps. Suffice to say there was a bit of a scuffle, I saw stars by the end of it but soon found mysef back in the castle.
What to say about what happened next? It turned out that what I thought was going to be a two / three day job tops, turned into a months then year long task in which it seemed time itself became meaningless. I was now acting excuslively for the client, as it seemed there was some guy trying to muscle in on her territory. I never knew that the world of plumbing could become so perilous.
Or give me so much oppurtunity for travel. Although the castle remained my base as more of its doors opened, I was taken to many strange lands away from it. Many more cash in hand jobs.
There was that time I experienced what I now call extreme plumbing, where I arrived in one world and had to dive straight in to a deep ocean and help clear an old wreck. Other times I got to ride what I can only describe as a relative of Nessie through vast underground caverns. Who would believe my stories once I returned? My brother could have helped me, but he was nowhere to be found as I went to more and more exotic lands, fighting my way past creatures I never imagined existed. There was the site of the ancient pyraminds where I almost got sucked into the sand, then there was my long months spent in a hostile icy world helping with a penguin wildlife conversation project, amongst other things. I never knew that penguins could be so easily seperated from their babies, but it was a good laugh, and I even raced one of them.
It wasn't all fun and games though. This guy trying to muscle in had a tough shell, was hard to crack and had many friends who were well-connected enough to make things difficult for me. Every land I visited there was something new to confront. Some of the lands were so unreal, if I told you about them you would probably think I was on something, but I swear there were magic carpets and strange ceatures who changed size at different times I visited.
The tough-shell guy even appeared himself a few times, liked stamping a lot. Finally, on the third time I met him I confronted him and defeated him for good. Suddenly the atmosphere changed, all the castle was open, and I was finally able to meet the client in person!
And so I returned from my epic and surreal journey, from the lands of hot and cold, the dizzying heights where I flew through the air, the chilly lows where I could drown or fall at any moment. I was a plumber yes, but i had become so much more than that.
So I got back to the castle, it was a bit of an occasion I thought, but things didn't seem t be quite right. Plumbers have to be make ends meet, there had been all that money, but I wanted a reward, I wanted glory!
Then I remembered the message the owner had left on the door, and suddenly was left in no doubt I had been slightly cheated.
"Dear Mario, please come to the castle. I have baked a cake for you.
Princess Peach"
What was to be my reward?
Cake! That was it! Sabotage! 120 stars, endless red coins, three versions of Bowser, those dratted penguins and all I got was a cake.
I did get to lava-surf though, which was cool.
I'd like to say I sabotaged the cake by putting chilli in it as the "Princess" as she called herself, ate it.
But no, I am a gentleman. So me and my new oriental friend Yoshi, simply grabbed some 'shrooms and went on a trip in the crazy rainbow world above the castle. Perhaps it will cheer you slightly to know it's a tradesman who feels he has been sightly conned for once.
I'm not Polish no, but I am Italian.
It's me, Mario!
(I am v v sorry. This is my personal tribute to an awesome N64 game, on which I spent many happy hours wasting revision time. Great game, but thought the ending was a bit rubbish.)
(Sat 20th Sep 2008, 13:28, More)
a long journey
(this is only my second or third post around here, after some professional lurkage, so usual pleas for niceness!)
For several years I have worked as a plumber, sometimes on and off with my brother if the job required. As you can imagine it is a trade rife with oppurtunites for food sabotage.
So this one particular job I went to was at some old place in the middle of nowhere. My brother was nowhere to be found on this occasion, so must have be skiving. The owner was nowhere to be found, but had kindly left me a note on the door.
This old place was in fact to all intents and purposes a castle, and in need of renovation. Clearly I was to be left to get on with the job, so started trying a few doors, but many of them were locked.
Then, and this is where my memory gets a bit hazy, I found a door that opened I suddenly found myself in a strange space, which I presumed be more of the castle grounds. There was this huge black dog like creature chained in a yard, that I had to be careful to avoid. There was lots of money to be found lying around too, which is perhaps how I was to be paid. A cash in hand job, which suited me fine.
It soon became apparent that to leave this strange courtyard and return to the castle I had to get past this big black guy. He didn't talk much, but the implication was I could be in big trouble if I didn't get passed him. Thankfully, I re-discovered how athletic I could be, a bi of a surprise given my rotund figure, and soon found myelf doing all kinds of jumps. Suffice to say there was a bit of a scuffle, I saw stars by the end of it but soon found mysef back in the castle.
What to say about what happened next? It turned out that what I thought was going to be a two / three day job tops, turned into a months then year long task in which it seemed time itself became meaningless. I was now acting excuslively for the client, as it seemed there was some guy trying to muscle in on her territory. I never knew that the world of plumbing could become so perilous.
Or give me so much oppurtunity for travel. Although the castle remained my base as more of its doors opened, I was taken to many strange lands away from it. Many more cash in hand jobs.
There was that time I experienced what I now call extreme plumbing, where I arrived in one world and had to dive straight in to a deep ocean and help clear an old wreck. Other times I got to ride what I can only describe as a relative of Nessie through vast underground caverns. Who would believe my stories once I returned? My brother could have helped me, but he was nowhere to be found as I went to more and more exotic lands, fighting my way past creatures I never imagined existed. There was the site of the ancient pyraminds where I almost got sucked into the sand, then there was my long months spent in a hostile icy world helping with a penguin wildlife conversation project, amongst other things. I never knew that penguins could be so easily seperated from their babies, but it was a good laugh, and I even raced one of them.
It wasn't all fun and games though. This guy trying to muscle in had a tough shell, was hard to crack and had many friends who were well-connected enough to make things difficult for me. Every land I visited there was something new to confront. Some of the lands were so unreal, if I told you about them you would probably think I was on something, but I swear there were magic carpets and strange ceatures who changed size at different times I visited.
The tough-shell guy even appeared himself a few times, liked stamping a lot. Finally, on the third time I met him I confronted him and defeated him for good. Suddenly the atmosphere changed, all the castle was open, and I was finally able to meet the client in person!
And so I returned from my epic and surreal journey, from the lands of hot and cold, the dizzying heights where I flew through the air, the chilly lows where I could drown or fall at any moment. I was a plumber yes, but i had become so much more than that.
So I got back to the castle, it was a bit of an occasion I thought, but things didn't seem t be quite right. Plumbers have to be make ends meet, there had been all that money, but I wanted a reward, I wanted glory!
Then I remembered the message the owner had left on the door, and suddenly was left in no doubt I had been slightly cheated.
"Dear Mario, please come to the castle. I have baked a cake for you.
Princess Peach"
What was to be my reward?
Cake! That was it! Sabotage! 120 stars, endless red coins, three versions of Bowser, those dratted penguins and all I got was a cake.
I did get to lava-surf though, which was cool.
I'd like to say I sabotaged the cake by putting chilli in it as the "Princess" as she called herself, ate it.
But no, I am a gentleman. So me and my new oriental friend Yoshi, simply grabbed some 'shrooms and went on a trip in the crazy rainbow world above the castle. Perhaps it will cheer you slightly to know it's a tradesman who feels he has been sightly conned for once.
I'm not Polish no, but I am Italian.
It's me, Mario!
(I am v v sorry. This is my personal tribute to an awesome N64 game, on which I spent many happy hours wasting revision time. Great game, but thought the ending was a bit rubbish.)
(Sat 20th Sep 2008, 13:28, More)
» Puns
Sea food diet...
A guy goes into a seafood restaurant and asks to see the dishes of the day. The waiter wheels over a trolley and the man examines the dishes.
"I'll have the little green squid with the hairy lip, please" says the man. "O.K." replies the waiter and calls out "Gervais!"
A little French chef appears with a large knife, the waiter instructs the chef to kill the little green squid with the hairy lip.
Gervais is just about to slice at the poor squid when he notices a tear running down its face. Gervais is touched, and admits that he hasn't the heart to kill the squid.
"Not to worry" says the waiter, and calls out "Hans!!" at which an enormous German bloke comes out of the kitchen. "Sir", says the waiter, "this is Hans, the dishwasher. Hans, kill that squid!"
The dishwasher wields a huge rolling pin and is just about to bludgeon the little green squid with the hairy lip when it cringes back and gives a little cry.
"I am sorry sir, I just cannot kill the squid" Hans admits, his lower lip trembling.
"Well sir," says the waiter, "it just goes to show.
That Hans that do dishes, can be soft as Gervais. With mild green, hairy lip squid!"
(Sat 7th Mar 2009, 0:11, More)
Sea food diet...
A guy goes into a seafood restaurant and asks to see the dishes of the day. The waiter wheels over a trolley and the man examines the dishes.
"I'll have the little green squid with the hairy lip, please" says the man. "O.K." replies the waiter and calls out "Gervais!"
A little French chef appears with a large knife, the waiter instructs the chef to kill the little green squid with the hairy lip.
Gervais is just about to slice at the poor squid when he notices a tear running down its face. Gervais is touched, and admits that he hasn't the heart to kill the squid.
"Not to worry" says the waiter, and calls out "Hans!!" at which an enormous German bloke comes out of the kitchen. "Sir", says the waiter, "this is Hans, the dishwasher. Hans, kill that squid!"
The dishwasher wields a huge rolling pin and is just about to bludgeon the little green squid with the hairy lip when it cringes back and gives a little cry.
"I am sorry sir, I just cannot kill the squid" Hans admits, his lower lip trembling.
"Well sir," says the waiter, "it just goes to show.
That Hans that do dishes, can be soft as Gervais. With mild green, hairy lip squid!"
(Sat 7th Mar 2009, 0:11, More)
» Easiest Job Ever
"Hey!" ........................."Hey!"
Listen!
I have the easiest job ever.It's just me and my boss where I work - he does a lot of what I guess you could call freelance combat work.
I'm behind him all the way - it's my job to give him the lowdown on any new developments. Everything I say is bang on form, incredibly useful and right on time. My alert system, as you can see above, is better than an iphone.
Why my job is so easy? I repeat the same crap over and over again, flash at my boss for no reason *at all* and then disappear in the final battle because this corporate badass Ganondorf wants to take over our patch and I get all overpowered. No bluesky thinking for me.
But hey! hey! I'll always be back. Except at the very end. Again. Proving that, Link, you were never the boss of me.
(Wed 15th Sep 2010, 19:27, More)
"Hey!" ........................."Hey!"
Listen!
I have the easiest job ever.It's just me and my boss where I work - he does a lot of what I guess you could call freelance combat work.
I'm behind him all the way - it's my job to give him the lowdown on any new developments. Everything I say is bang on form, incredibly useful and right on time. My alert system, as you can see above, is better than an iphone.
Why my job is so easy? I repeat the same crap over and over again, flash at my boss for no reason *at all* and then disappear in the final battle because this corporate badass Ganondorf wants to take over our patch and I get all overpowered. No bluesky thinking for me.
But hey! hey! I'll always be back. Except at the very end. Again. Proving that, Link, you were never the boss of me.
(Wed 15th Sep 2010, 19:27, More)