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Wellington's f-f-f-Friday Feast!

Hello! It’s Roger (Wellington)!
Margaret has very generously given me the opportunity to do another guest post, so either she’s feeling sorry for me because I don’t have a blog, or she’s gonna be out getting her hair done today or something, and can’t make it. I suspect the latter. Not that getting her hair done takes all THAT long, but then she has to fit in three or four hours of driving round with her car windows open being seen (wind teasing her hair ravishingly as the car ZOOOOOOOOOMMMS down the highway, stereo blaring out "Music to Watch Girls By" at MAXIMUM volume, pressing the ‘Lipstick’ button on her dashboard to automatically touch up her lippy, Penelope Pitstop stylee, screeching at the traffic as she goes: "Get OUT of My Way, Ugly FreakCars™, Margaret’s Comin’ Thru!!!", and flooring the pedal, changing the music to "Born To Be Wild" and hitting 120mph easy, the engine purring with satisfaction etc etc – think Barbarella in a car and you’ve got it).

So instead you’ve got me. I can only apologise.

I WAS gonna waffle on about our General Election coverage yesterday, which is always worth watching for Peter Snow (think crazy, eccentric quintessentially British mad professor and you’ve got him in one) and his Swingometer ™ (not as groovy funkmeister as you’d think from the name, but still fun) - but to be honest I nodded off at 3.30am, and when I woke up Mister Tony Blair was still our Prime Minister (like a President but with smaller cars) so there’s probably not much worth telling you.

One thing I DID notice is that in every constituency where there was a Monster Raving Loony candidate, their loonyness seemed to be entirely dependent on wearing hopeless top hats and hundreds of dayglo badges. Not a single one of them was naked, or hanging upside down from a pole, or dressed as a giant rabbit, or riding a crab, or eating soap. It’s little wonder they hardly got any votes.

I was just having a smoke, and a colleague was telling me she’d just been to the chemist’s (Superdrug, if you’re reading, Margaret’s Tourist Guide) and she’d bought some Party Feet™, which are apparently these gel things that stick inside your shoe at the ball of your foot, so you can dance and strut your funky stuff without worrying about corns or blisters. She’s getting on a bit, you understand. Can you imagine pulling some girl inappropriately at a party, getting her back to your pad, and she kicks off her shoes to reveal her Party Feet™ flapping off her toes like flat dead frogs. Blech.

Anyway, I digress. Friday Feast time!

Appetizer: Name a store or restaurant you no longer visit because of a bad experience you had there.
Every time I visit Schofields department store in Leeds, I get an electric shock from static on the escalators. I’m sure it’s deliberate.

Soup: If you could own any building in existence, which one would you want?
Hmmm… I’ll take the British Museum please. Get rid of all those annoying tourists, and I’d live in the round Library in the centre – that would be my groovy ultra-modern home, with the rest of the place as a Secret Base full of space age gadgets and rocket ships and merry-go-rounds and stuff. Staffed by posh English butlers and French maids.

Salad: What's your favorite commercial these days?
I miss the ultra cheap ones, which you hardly see any more, with some dude who owns a carpet warehouse telling you about his Crazy Crazy Sale – years ago we used to have one for Shackleton’s High Seat Chairs ("They’re Lovely") voiced by a senile old lady ("They bought it from Shackletons, you know") which can’t have cost more than twenty quid to make, and at the end of it you saw her snuggling into this horror of a comfy chair, the advert stopping just before the trapdoor opened up beneath her and she was fed to the albino crocodiles. I think that’s what happened, anyway.

Main Course: When was the last time you felt guilty about spending money, and what was it you purchased?
Hmmmm guilt… what’s that again?

Dessert: Friday's Feast is going to be having it's First Birthday in 2 weeks. What should we do to celebrate?
Have a huge piss-up, snog someone you work with inappropriately (whom you hate), stagger home, throw up in the taxi, and phone in sick on Monday.

Right! That’s your lot from me! I’m off to get me hair done!

Roger (Wellington) x