Its true. And you heard it here first. You know how I know this? Its because of this:
My daughters have disappeared off to some Greek island or other with their father and I don�t have a huge amount of work on this week so Im desperately trying to find things that will stop me from spending the week lying on my bed with a vibrator anywhere that one will go..umm�in idle pursuits.
Ive been making Bolognese sauce and because I am a lazy moo I have been chopping onions and garlics in the food processor. It also means I don�t have to reapply my eyeliner a thousand times as Onions in the Food Processor = NO crying, which can only be a good thing as I am not planning an Alice Cooper tribute act anytime soon, despite my obvious crooning prowess.
Now, here�s the magic bit. Even if I chop the onions into food processor-friendly chunks which are VERY SIMILAR in size to the garlics, and then whiz them all together in the choppy thing until they appear to all be whizzed into tiny bits, the magical garlics can not only resist the best efforts of the shockingly sharp processor blades but they can also HIDE THEMSELVES, in their entirety, behind teeny bits of onion which aren�t even big enough to hide�umm�other teeny bits of onion. They stay invisible when I tip everything into the pan and stir it around and they stay invisible all the time I am adding all the other things like tomatoes and minced beef and herbs and, well, fucking hell you don�t need me to tell you how to make bollocknasey. They even stay invisible when I am putting the big pan in the oven as I am to lazy to keep an eye on it on the stove top but, and this is the MAGIC bit, they will miraculously magic themselves back to life when I get the pan out of the oven to give it a stir!!! Bs and Gs they have not a mark on them! Not a slice nor a dunch nor a sliver chopped off them and completely whole and white and visible so even a blind man with something in his eye and wearing Raybans and looking the other way could spot them.
WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU HIDE, OH MAGICAL INDESTRUCTABLE GARLICS???
I squashed them against the side of the pan until they were mush and then stirred them back into the sauce but they still wouldn�t tell me.
L has been offered a month-long run of panto work in a show where the �stars� are: a bloke off CBeebies (that I don�t recognise even tho I have kids) and another bloke who played a guard in one episode of Dr Who in 2007. Im not joking. Could be worse � the other theatre in the same town has one of the Nolans! (and not the fat one from the frozen food adverts). The money seemed pretty good until I started taking off the costs of commuting and the number of shows he�d be expected to do (sometimes 3 a day) and it was working out that he�d end up with �FUCKALL so Im thinking that he�s probably going to tell them to ram it. He hates pit playing anyway.
Part of my new job (which I haven�t officially started yet but am doing as a volunteer until the end of term) involves a trip to Chigley College every Tuesday to provide �curriculum support� for a diploma course in engineering � helping about 30 x 15 year old boys to formulate their thoughts away from whether or not Lee Nelson�s Well Good Show is something of a misnomer and back onto all things engineeringical.
Engineering is not one of my specialist subjects but luckily it doesn�t appear to be theirs either so no harm done. The boys are fairly evenly divided into a) too embarrassed/shy to speak to me and b) over-confident, gobby and bordering on the inappropriate.
Had a slightly wobbly moment when one of them, having been told my name, said �Mrs Stepfordtart-Geetardude? Do you know Gobshite Geetardude?� and after a bit of a pause and some blinking I had to say �Yes. He is my stepson.� I don�t know why it hadn�t occurred to me that in a class of 30 15 year old boys from all the farflung corners of Chigley Borough, there would not be at least one who is friends with L�s oldest son, who is�err�a 15 year old boy from Chigley Borough.
I don�t even know if their evil witch of a mother told L�s children that we got married so Im curious to know how the �Hey, Gobshite! Your stepmum is, like, a teacher-thingy in our diploma, innit!� conversation might go.
Oh, and I got called a paedo for making a �yuk� face because I could see one of the boys pants over the top of his trousers. I could understand it if Id gone looking for the merest half-inch of boxer waistband, but the boy in question was wearing his trousers so far down his arse that they were truly defying gravity in their inability to drop to a puddle around his ankles and the pants in question were yanked up to Simon Cowell-esque dizzying heights � WELL above the navel!
There was also the merry five minutes spent keeping a straight face (while all about me sniggered, snorted, went red and VERY carefully formulated their questions for maximum mirth) in a discussion about ball joints and whether they aided manoeuvrability.
�Miss! What if the balls are really small?�
�Miss! If the ball moves around too much could it break off?�
�Miss! In this picture the ball is yellow. Is that a good colour for balls, miss?�
�Miss! Ive drawn it but it looks funny. Can you look at my ball, miss?�
The effort of not laughing was hercu-fucking-lean, girls and boys.
Later
S
X
PS And the plural of garlic is deffo garlics so don�t start. M�kay?