The Great British Food Fight, alternatively referred to as ‘more cookery rubbish’ by the public at large, kicked off last night with Heston Blumenthal’s much-touted attempt at reinvigorating Little Chef’s branding, by way of the focal point of their operation – their rancid menu.
Like Blumenthal, I’ve not been inside a Little Chef in twenty-odd years. When Channel 4 eventually ventured in, it was both heart-warming and disturbing to see that absolutely nothing had changed in there. Not only in terms of the style of the interior, but also the actual interiors themselves. No broken chairs or peeling wallpaper appears to have been fixed. Now, this may not be true of every branch. Channel 4, devious bastards that they are, are probably using one bad example to tarnish the whole change. All the same, wilting pink walling isn’t what you want to see as you eat a leathery mixed grill.
Speaking of the food, it’s hard to defend what Little Chef were putting out. Hardened, overcooked, frozen meat. The fish pie looked like mixed bodily-fluid with the skin of an old woman floating on the surface. The Hawaiian Burger looked like roadkill. Heston and pals even gagged as they sipped the coffee. It could have been pantomime snobbishness, but it looked the real deal. Even as someone who despises the meaningless, middle-class bullshit of the word ‘foodie’, the food here simply looked unappetising
The strange thing with Heston Blumenthal is that, despite his running one of the most celebrated ponce-kitchens in the world, he comes across like a very decent bloke (and the kind of boss we all wish we had). He reminds me most of certain posh kids at secondary school who were almost embarrassed of their accents and sought to rid themselves of their upper-middle class roots by selling hash by the teenth in the playground. He comes across, essentially, as a stoner schoolchild with a frying pan.
Heston B’s approach to food is, fundamentally, at odds with what Little Chef seek to do. They’re operating in completely opposing markets – as Channel 4 knew full well when setting this absurd venture up. And fireworks have already started to fly, with the show’s one special ingredient turning out not to be the not-very-nutty professor Heston, but rather the Head Honcho at Little Chef, Ian Pegler. Pegler gifts Channel 4 the tools with which to make entertaining television, and from the moment he refused to give the company’s GP (or any figures at all, as it turned out) to Blumenthal, we knew we were on to a winner.
Ian is the anti-Alan Sugar, by way of Alan Partridge. From his bewilderingly misplaced use of the term ‘bluesky thinking’ to his assertion that Heston B could do absolutely anything he wanted with the company (so long as he didn’t change the menu), the befuddled swine was a trove of amusing vignettes, no moreso than the point towards the end at which, when pressed, he hung up on Heston Blumen-heck in a mild panic – a comedy moment which had to be seen
to be believed.
So far it’s a curious little programme this. You can’t help but feel HB is the only one of Channel 4’s four chefs who could actually do something with the idea. Hugh FW would start blubbing straight off the bat, Ramsay would fail, then blame everyone around him and Oliver would fail whilst pretending he’d succeeded, playing some Snow Patrol over the end credits by way of insisting he’d changed the world.
It’s interesting watching snobbishness battling inverse snobbishness and so I’ll watch this through to the end. It’s worth it for the guilty pleasure of the hilarious hatchet job on Ian Pegler, which would be cruel rather than amusing, if only it wasn’t Ian himself himself holding the hatchet.
Tags: Big Chef Takes On Little Chef, Channel 4, Cooking, Culture, Entertainment, Food, Food Fight, Gordon Ramsay, Heston Blumenthal, Ian Pegler, Jamie Oliver, Little Chef, Media, Television, TV, Uncategorized
January 20, 2009 at 10:27 am
I went to a Little Chef last year and the breakfast I had was smashing. The coffee was vile, mind, but I don’t expect a decent cup of coffee in a British establishment unless it’s run by Italians.
This ponce should leave well alone.
January 20, 2009 at 10:29 am
the bit where the two menus went head-to-head missed the point: they could have run two identical, bog standard chips ‘n’ pasta menus, one labelled “Little Chef” and one labelled “Heston Blumenthal”, and the hapless proles would still have overwhelmingly chosen the “Little Chef” one simply because of inverted snobbery, fear of the unfamiliar and “it’s not for people like us” class self-identification.
January 20, 2009 at 10:33 am
I’ll have a look at it later on. I like Heston, he was very good on that GRJ show about anger. I do find his hair (head) a bit odd as he isn’t bald but had a skinhead cut.
January 20, 2009 at 10:39 am
Oh good, am glad you reviewed this. I was a bit stoned when I watched it and found it very very funny. My favourite bits were:
– the LC exec putting the phone down on HB, when he was asking very reasonable questions about the food cost margin.
– The LC staff, especially the man who started working there as a washer-upper at 15. “It was just the best thing that had ever happened to me. I LIVE Little Chef.”
– The brilliant pseudo-management speak of the LC execs. “We want blue sky thinking food outside the box. With fireworks on”
Oh deary me, twas ace.
For my sins I watched CBB afterwards. In Michelle Heaton’s exit interview they discussed Coolio’s rather outdated attitude to women (ie making constant sexual remarks towards them, calling women whores and pinching their arses). Davina said, and this is a direct quote, “You can’t blame him, that’s where he’s from. That’s how they talk about women there”.
Isn’t that far more racist than anything Jade Goody ever did?
But it will have been ignored in the general droning monotony of Davina’s interview, and MORE’S THE PITY.
January 20, 2009 at 10:39 am
PS – HB looks like Tweety-Pie
January 20, 2009 at 10:48 am
Rosz – thanks for doubly reiterating the points I made in my review (blue-sky and hanging up). It’s nice to know people read the crap I put out there.
As for Coolios, ‘where he’s from’ is very vague so she can’t really be called racist for it. Where did you take it to mean? He’s from Hertfordshire, originally Compton… I’m sure sexism exists in both areas.
I like Coolio, he is WEL COOL (io).
January 20, 2009 at 10:50 am
Is that racist? Stereotyping, p’raps, but not racist, I’d say.
January 20, 2009 at 10:54 am
Compton, eh? An area noted for its inhabitants’ love of bitches, asses and vulgar cars and jewellery. Davina was on the button.
January 20, 2009 at 10:58 am
That Hitler was a bit racist eh. Mind you it’s where he’s from init.
January 20, 2009 at 10:59 am
Nick – You’re right. The Austrians are horrendously racist to this day.
January 20, 2009 at 11:00 am
Bitches:
http://tinyurl.com/comptonbitch
Asses:
http://tinyurl.com/comptonasszs
Vulgar cars:
http://tinyurl.com/comptonridesz
Vulgar jewellery:
http://tinyurl.com/comptonjeweleszz
January 20, 2009 at 11:05 am
That’s a nice ass.
January 20, 2009 at 11:12 am
I’d love to pump that ass.
http://tinyurl.com/asszpumpings
January 20, 2009 at 11:15 am
Just back for my barbie!
This is from the little chef menu under Classics!
Spaghetti Bolognese New
A rich spaghetti bolognese, topped with Cheddar cheese and served with two slices of garlic bread. Spice up your spaghetti! Comes with Lea & Perrins and Tabasco sauces.
January 20, 2009 at 11:17 am
If you do not fancy an Italian classic why not have a curry?
Lamb Rogan Josh New
Tender pieces of succulent lamb in a rich tomato and herb sauce with onion and red peppers. Served on a bed of fluffy white rice with mini naan breads.
January 20, 2009 at 11:18 am
I disagree with your view that Ramsay would have failed at this Little Chef task. I think Ramsay would have been perfect for this venture, his default “Kitchen Nightmares” solution of simple food made from decent ingredients would have worked really well. Trouble is, that would have made this just another episode of Kitchen Nightmares.
.
Perhaps Ramsay isn’t “Obama” enough nowadays…
January 20, 2009 at 11:18 am
I got on a donkey in Greece and it stank.
Not so sure about the addition of cheddar on that spag bol.
January 20, 2009 at 11:18 am
It likes all of the World’s cuisine under one roof!
January 20, 2009 at 11:21 am
Is that genuinely on the Little Chef menu?
They need to stop piddling about with Italian food and work on building a successful partnership with Bernard Matthews.
January 20, 2009 at 11:22 am
This is the one for me!
Olympic Breakfast
Chefs favouriteThe biggest and still the best! Two rashers of back bacon, British outdoor reared pork sausage, two griddled eggs, whole cup mushrooms, crispy sauté potatoes, fresh griddled tomato, Heinz baked beans and toasted or fried thick bloomer bread.
January 20, 2009 at 11:23 am
That curry sounds nice. What’s so wrong with Little Chef food anyway? The example Swineshead has cited up there bears no resemblance to any meal I’ve ever had in a Little Chef. Alright, they don’t do poncey Piqued food, but their burgers and breakfasts are perfectly fine for what they are. No different from a good old greasy spoon’s.
January 20, 2009 at 11:24 am
Sue – remind me how often Ramsay fails in his Kitchen Nightmare adventures?
Ah yes – no need – I’ve just remembered that it’s about 90% of the time.
I love the way the Kitchen Nightmares ‘revisited’ thread takes the restaurants to task for not following Ramsay’s apparently foolproof advice, when all he does is go in with some cameras, barks at the staff and writes a new menu, rather than providing them with a decent business plan and a way to deal with the next financial year…
‘Troubleshooter’ (with John Harvey Jones) it ain’t…
January 20, 2009 at 11:24 am
followed by,
Mega Mixed Grill
Chef’s favouriteA serious meat feast! A tender top rump steak, a succulent grilled chicken breast, tasty gammon steak and British outdoor reared pork sausage served with freshly griddled tomato half, mushrooms, crunchy onion rings, chips or jacket potato and peas.
January 20, 2009 at 11:25 am
Nappers – you may well think that but the FIGURES SPEAK FOR THEMSELVES.
January 20, 2009 at 11:26 am
I like gammon.
January 20, 2009 at 11:26 am
Troubleshooter was a cracking show.
And he looked like Rumpole.
January 20, 2009 at 11:26 am
I will have the chips & jacket potato & peas. No or’s with me!
January 20, 2009 at 11:28 am
Swineshead – That’s because everyone’s gone bloody poncified in this country. Turning their noses up at a good old fry-up because it doesn’t contain sun-blushed tomatoes and bruschetta what-have-you. The entire population of the British Isles should have some bloody sense horsewhipped back into ’em.
January 20, 2009 at 11:29 am
He did look like Rumpole. A very smart bloke, he was.
RIP John Mortimer… Rumpole was always a good evening watch. John Pierre Higgins – remember that one? Ho ho ho.
January 20, 2009 at 11:32 am
It’s only the Guardian and Times readers who’ve changed their ways, Nappers – the rest of the population still wants burgers, shepherd’s pie and a full english. It’s the cost-cutting that’s digging Little Chef’s grave. Seriously – a kitchen without a pan would worry even the most basic of diners… and you don’t really want to be sitting on a ripped vinyl seat while you eat, do you? You want a semblance of order…
January 20, 2009 at 11:33 am
You are so right Napoleon!
and to finish,
Chockarocka Cream Pie
A chocolate biscuit base topped with ripples of white and milk chocolate flavour mousse, finished with chocolate fudge and a sprinkling of white and milk chocolate pieces.
January 20, 2009 at 11:34 am
RIP, indeed. And RIP John Harvey Jones, who died last year (if memory serves).
By the way – I won’t be speaking to any of you people anymore after today, as a man in Nigeria has just sent me an e-mail telling me that a distant relative has died in a car crash, leaving me 400,000,000 USD. Once I’ve sent him my bank account details, he’ll wire me the money, and then I’m going to live in a palace made out of gold. Your sort won’t be welcome in my fabulous new life (unless you’re a bitch with a nice ass).
January 20, 2009 at 11:36 am
Swineshead – The Little Chef I was in didn’t have ripped vinyl seats, was clean and tidy, and the kitchen (which you could see) had plenty of pans. I suspect you’re right in your suspicion that Channel Four found (or, indeed, manufactured) the worst Little Chef it could find.
January 20, 2009 at 11:37 am
As a Times reader I take exception to your remark. I love a fry up as much as the next man..With a cuppa tea!
The Guardianistas, yeah well we know what they’re like.
January 20, 2009 at 11:38 am
That’s weird – I got something similar. Do you fancy building some kind of porn empire partnership when the money comes through?
January 20, 2009 at 11:38 am
They need stringin’ up!
January 20, 2009 at 11:42 am
Swineshead – I would, if I didn’t plan to drop you and your cronies like a stone. No, my new life will be spent sitting in a whirlpool spa surrounded by bitches, smoking huge cigars. I already have the requisite hairy chest, am pretty certain I’m going bald and, with the addition of a bright orange tan, some sovereign rings and a massive gold chain, will look the very definition of the phrase, ‘shit done good’. There’s no place for you in the Frank Butcher future I’ve got planned when my Nigeria fortune comes through.
January 20, 2009 at 12:03 pm
Frank Butcher ran a failing, tiny car lot in a fictional, down-at-hell London Borough.
Enjoy your future.
*invests in every major porn retailer in USA*
January 20, 2009 at 12:04 pm
‘down-at-heel’, that should’ve been.
January 20, 2009 at 12:06 pm
Rumpole was great afternoon viewing for us truants….
January 20, 2009 at 12:13 pm
I meant looking like Frank Butcher, but with the fortune of a self-made ball-bearing / pallette / scrap metal millionaire. The archetypal ‘shit done gooder’. They always look like Funtime Frankie, those buggers, and so will I.
So theeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrre.
January 20, 2009 at 12:18 pm
The last time I went To a Little Chef I was on the way to Glastonbury in my old Transit. The intention was to nip in for a cup of tea and a piss but as I was parking I reversed the van through a fence in the car park so we had to fuck off sharpish.
Anyone car for a Murray Mint, a ‘too-good-to-hurry mint?’
January 20, 2009 at 12:20 pm
Nap Dog, I’m a bitch with a nice ass – yeah, me. If I send you my bank details, will you share the winnings with me?
January 20, 2009 at 12:22 pm
Jesus Piqued, how’d you manage that? That’s the sort of caper I’d get up to in my teens – yet you are an old man?!!?!?!??!?!
Hulo
January 20, 2009 at 12:33 pm
Who – By all means send me your bank details. And a photo, please. I’m damned if I’m falling into that trap again – the last one who said she had a nice ass to me over the internet turned out to look like Bella Emberg after she’d just eaten Les Dawson.
January 20, 2009 at 12:33 pm
HIY
I didn’t see the (huge white) fence behind me in my wing mirrors as I was too busy concentrating squeezing into a narrow gap twixt cars. I was a little stoned.
I was a fucking disaster area with that van, I’d only had it for a week when I went hurtling into the underground Sainsbury car park, smacked the MAX HEADROOM sign and tore off my roof rack. I was a little stoned then as well.
All people came out to watch me reverse out with bits of roof rack clanging to the ground. The sign was hanging off one side.
I felt way cool.
January 20, 2009 at 12:39 pm
It is because of people like you that Little Chef ails.
January 20, 2009 at 1:02 pm
I went to a little chef. I had a burger and the bun went soggy and fell to bits half way through with all the greece. Probably one of the better burgers I’ve ever had, and I’ve had at least four.
January 20, 2009 at 1:07 pm
I could turn Little Chef’s fortunes round in a heartbeat: LIVE NUDE GIRLS. What red-blooded and weary male motorway traveller wouldn’t want to eat a full English whilst a twenty year old stripper bumps and grinds in front of them? Throw in a comic and a live band, and Little Chef would be the most popular restaurant in Great Britain.
O’course, the boot-faced feminist lobby would have something to say about my idea, but fuck them. That woolly-haired set of 1970s throwbacks lost the war the moment normal women rediscovered the joys of shaking their asses for the boys.
January 20, 2009 at 1:09 pm
I won’t eat in those pubs that microwave everything though. Not because I’m some poncified southern guardian reading lentils dry humping flower sniffin baby kissin kitty pettin corporate rock whore (I’d list skips in my top five favourite foods), but mainly because it tastes like rubbery arse.
January 20, 2009 at 1:10 pm
NP: What those joyless fwunts don’t realise is how liberating it is for women to get spit roasted in the back room of the strip club for 20 quid a pop. It’s what the suffragettes would have wanted.
January 20, 2009 at 1:11 pm
Ugeine – You just don’t get the same levels of grease in burgers as you did in the old days. One of thye joys of a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder with Cheese used to be the waterfall of grease that used to cascade down your chin when you bit into it. Nowadays, they’re almost dry as a bone, and no better for it. This low-fat lobby has ruined food, the miserable shits.
January 20, 2009 at 1:13 pm
NP: I remember buying smilies (potato things in a smiley face) in a cone at school and you had to eat them really fast before the grease from them made the bottom of the cone give way and you got greasy potato all over your trousers. Bloody brilliant lunch.
January 20, 2009 at 1:14 pm
Ugeine – They’re banging their ‘eads against a brick wall, those wimmin. Who cares what Camile Paglia’s banging on about when you can switch over and drool over Girls Aloud instead? I’d see my own mother publicly birched if it bought me a six-up with those girls.
January 20, 2009 at 1:16 pm
Ahh, deep-fried potato snacks. They always pointed you towards healthy oven cooking on the Bird’s Eye Potato Waffles packet, but I knew what those little beauties deserved – deep frying. That’s how God cooks his waffles. GOD.
January 20, 2009 at 1:19 pm
3 words
Findus Crispy Pancakes
January 20, 2009 at 1:20 pm
Vesta Curries with little fried crispy things on top.
Proper 70’s food, that’s what the world wants.
January 20, 2009 at 1:22 pm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/tyne/7823648.stm
January 20, 2009 at 1:24 pm
Crispy motherfucking pancakes! That and keenan and kel is all i remember about my childhood.
January 20, 2009 at 1:33 pm
Those little fried crispy things Nick’s on about were lovely. They were a bit like those fried crispy things that Blue Dragon company makes. They look like little yellow sticks, you stick ’em in the frier, and they turn into white curly things.
I’m not making these up.
I liked the minced beef crispy pancakes. The nuclear orange coating was attractive to my greedy child’s eyes.
January 20, 2009 at 1:38 pm
.. I remember those white crispy things. What the hell were they? They were lovely, just never enough of them
January 20, 2009 at 1:39 pm
You can get ’em in packets, Piqued. From Blue Dragon. Or you could anyway – I haven’t seen ’em in a while.
What the hell were they called?
January 20, 2009 at 1:43 pm
We have a lot of ‘resting’ actors in this offoce. Occasionally on of ’em fucks off on a cruise for a few months or does a season of Les Miserables at The Embassy Theatre in Fife, or something.
Anyhoo, one of them has got a job. As I type this I can hear musical-based humming as she goes through the fucking score. If she doesn’t shut-up in the next 30 seconds I’m going to kick her in the cunt.
January 20, 2009 at 1:43 pm
I meant ‘office’ of course
January 20, 2009 at 1:43 pm
I’ve never forgiven Jamie Oliver for single handedly getting turkey twizzlers discontinued. Sometimes I have the biggest craving for twizzlers, chips, cheese and instant gravy.
January 20, 2009 at 1:46 pm
‘Resting’ actors. I’ve always liked that phrase. So much more romantic than ‘unemployable dreg’ or ‘fast-food restaurant worker’. It’s strange, considering my profession has its fair share of wastrels who’ll never get a job, that you don’t get ‘resting artists’.
So what rehashed 80s chick flick / fuckwitted Disney movie / 1970s jukebox calamity has this ‘resting’ actress landed a part in?
January 20, 2009 at 1:47 pm
Ugeine – I’ve never eaten a Turkey Twizzler. They looked lovely on Oliver’s show. I don’t see what all the fuss was about.
January 20, 2009 at 1:48 pm
The most genius thing about potato waffles is the ability to cook them (or “heat”, if you wish to get technical) in a TOASTER!!! Awesome!
I’m fed up with putting the oven on when pissed, it always ends badly, and hands don’t re-grow like a chameleon’s tail.
January 20, 2009 at 1:49 pm
I don’t know Nappers, happy to kick the information out of her.
We need to know what those crispy fellas are called.
January 20, 2009 at 1:50 pm
Napoleon: It was like deep fried sex.
January 20, 2009 at 1:53 pm
After some research I think they were rice noodles
January 20, 2009 at 1:55 pm
Crispy noodles! Blue Dragon Crispy Noodles!
http://www.bluedragon.com/products/noodles-wraps-coatings/crispy-noodles.aspx
They still fucking make ’em! Huzzah!
January 20, 2009 at 1:56 pm
Well spotted sir, so they were chips, then
January 20, 2009 at 1:57 pm
“Kick in the kunt”, them was the days.
*Watches chameleon hands grow*
January 20, 2009 at 2:03 pm
I suppose you have a toaster as well???
January 20, 2009 at 2:06 pm
They weren’t really chips. Yes, they were made of potato, but they were more like crisps. Sort of like a thin, unflavoured Space Raider wot’s been cooked in hot fat. Lovely.
Spaghetti – I happen to own a Dualit toaster that cost so much fucking money I’m planning on putting the bugger in my will. It cooks good toast, mind. I wouldn’t dare try cooking a potato waffle in it.
January 20, 2009 at 2:14 pm
I own a Dualit too, a budget one but the best thing since sliced bread…
*ahem*
Okay Nappers, sort of par-cooked crisps, then. Either way we both agree they were ace. I’m going to source boxes of ’em and eat them until I fart blood
January 20, 2009 at 2:15 pm
My dad wrote his will leaving me one of his cars. And then scrapped it. I don’t think he likes me very much.
Go on, you know you want to. Start off with a crumpet, and work up to a waffle.
January 20, 2009 at 2:20 pm
This sucker’s a four slotter in cream metal ‘n’ shit. Looks like something from the 50s. I keep waiting for it to break down just so I can be horrified by the repair bill. That’s right, kids, this is a toaster you don’t just chuck out when it’s fucked – you send it off and get it repaired, like in the old days.
I was left a Jaguar in a will once.
January 20, 2009 at 2:28 pm
Did it bite you? LOL!!!!!!
January 20, 2009 at 2:31 pm
Ha Ha Ha! No, it just laid by the fire licking its paws!!!!! You twerp!
January 20, 2009 at 2:33 pm
You’ve lost me, Napoleon.
January 20, 2009 at 2:37 pm
‘It cooks good toast’ – Nappers, 2009.
January 20, 2009 at 2:40 pm
Afternoon.
I’m shitting it, i’m having my first ever operation tomorrow.
I’m hoping for some soothing words from Naps to ease my mind…
January 20, 2009 at 2:40 pm
It does, Swineshead. Unless you own one of these overblown, overpriced machines, you’ll never appreciate just how well it cooks toast. And the toast stays hot a lot longer than other toaster’s toast. Don’t ask me how it does this – I am an artist (STOP THAT GUFFAWING AT THE BACK!), not a scientist.
January 20, 2009 at 2:41 pm
The leopard laid by the fire after it bit him Ug
January 20, 2009 at 2:42 pm
I can help here
*shoves NC aside before he has a chance to speak*
The pre-med is ace, you’ll be flying and then you wake up feeling a bit groggy but still whacked.
January 20, 2009 at 2:42 pm
Clarry – Your first, eh? Let’s just hope they don’t fuck up your anaesthesia, leaving you unable to move or communicate the fact you can feel every damned slice o’ the sawbone’s knife.
Here’s looking at you, kid.
January 20, 2009 at 2:44 pm
*Piqued’s advice only stands if they don’t fuck it up (and surgery’s been known to be fucked up quite badly in the past). Then there’s MRSA …
What are they doing anyway? Is it your tits?
*unzips flies*
*waits*
January 20, 2009 at 2:50 pm
It’s very rare Clarry… and most of the people that describe ‘waking up’ in surgery are the sorts that do Seances and read Russell Grant
January 20, 2009 at 2:51 pm
Knew I could rely on you Naps…
Thanks P – I should defo ask for a pre-med then? I’m not looking forward to it, particularly the canular, as I completely spazzed out at my pre-op yesterday after they took some blood. Which wouldn’t come out.
And no, not my tits, they are looking inside my tummy.
January 20, 2009 at 2:52 pm
Nappers, as you’re ill every three weeks (by my count) I’d have thought you’d be in and out of hospital on a regular basis?
Or are you just a hypochondriac, as I suspected?
January 20, 2009 at 2:55 pm
Yes, get the pre-med! You wont give shit about anything
January 20, 2009 at 2:58 pm
Clarry – It’s still a possiblity, however remote. Remember that, and tremble in fear. Also, don’t believe that crap about ‘you’ll feel a bit of a scratch’ when they stick the canular in. What they should say is, ‘You’ll just feel the agony of having something with the thickness of a bullock’s cock being driven into your arm’. Also, don’t let em stick the fucker into the crook of your elbow.
Swineshead – Hypochondriacs don’t tend to invent socially-embarrassing bowel complaints. They also can’t replicate the stench of a true sufferer’s farts, or the monstrous cacophony we kick up everytime we go for a shit.
I’m no stranger to hospitals, by the way. Being a heavy drinker is not the best thing to be when you’ve got what I’ve got. Still, the upshot is morphine – a drug abuser’s Holy Grail.
You’ll regret your suspicions at my funeral, you will.
January 20, 2009 at 3:02 pm
Nappers, you’ve sort of shot yourself in the foot with the mention of Morphine. You and I both know only too well that that stuff is a good argument for getting penis cancer
January 20, 2009 at 3:03 pm
*sticks fingers in ears and whistles to drown out Nappers*
Thanks P – i’ll do that
January 20, 2009 at 3:06 pm
How have I shot myself in the foot? I still wish they could come up with a better delivery system than that wide-bore bastard they thud through your unsuspecting flesh after lying that it’s just ‘a scratch’.
January 20, 2009 at 3:07 pm
You’ll be fine Clarry, don’t worry about it. Hope they sort your tummy out whilst they’re sticking class A’s into your brain (for free)
January 20, 2009 at 3:10 pm
NC, the cannula is a means to a delicious end, one spot of minor discomfort and it’s Keith Richards City in perpetuity… I’d rather the cannula than being injected every hour. Not that I really gave much of a shit about that after the first whack
January 20, 2009 at 3:11 pm
Well I’m not a big fan. Yes, the morphine’s lovely (so much, in fact, that I
January 20, 2009 at 3:13 pm
… you what?
HAV U DYED?????????????
January 20, 2009 at 3:15 pm
Well I’m not a big fan. Obviously the morphine’s great, I just think they should have got space-age about getting it in there it by now. Painless pain relief … or something.
Clarry – You’re doomed.
Speaking of space-age, where’s my flying fucking car. And my always-willing, Westworld-style Whorebot 7000?
Not that the missus would let me have a Whorebot 7000 …
January 20, 2009 at 3:15 pm
WordPress playing funny buggers there. I deleted, it published.
January 20, 2009 at 3:16 pm
It was the jaguar wot did it. MASTER COMEDIAN OVER HERE.
January 20, 2009 at 3:19 pm
…The pre-med can be taken orally, when that’s kicked in the cannula insertion is a piece of piss.
NC, have you actually had surgery?
January 20, 2009 at 3:21 pm
(last comment not meant to be sarcastic, and when I said surgery I meant the full ‘out’)
January 20, 2009 at 3:21 pm
I like the nitrous oxide…ha ha ha
January 20, 2009 at 3:21 pm
It wasn’t a real jaguar, sadly. It was a clapped-out, 1980s Sovereign I couldn’t even be arsed to go up to Bingley to collect. What the fuck kind of thing’s that to leave in a will? All my other relatives got money, the bastards.
January 20, 2009 at 3:25 pm
Piqued – Yes, on a fractured arm after playing football. Sadly, most of my hospital visits involve me turning up in agony, having a cannula inserted to increase the pain, chasing the dragon, and then a few days of having steroids injected into my stomach and stuff shoved up my arse. Fun, what, what?
January 20, 2009 at 3:25 pm
Napoleon – you’ve seen the film, you know the risks. Do you really want Yul Bryner (possibly wearing chaps) chasing you round til his face drops off?
January 20, 2009 at 3:29 pm
So you actually went under the knife for surgery? I thought that would’ve been local…
January 20, 2009 at 3:33 pm
Piqued – Oh, not the full whack, no. Not like the below-decks, HMS Victory-style horror show Clarry can look forward to tomorrow. I expect to endure the life-threatening thrills of a full-on Holby City at some stage in the future when my condition deteriorates.
Weirdly I was put fully under for an endoscopy (I think that’s what it’s called – the camera down the throat job). I say weirdly, because my GP said I wouldn’t be. Is that normal? I was only twleve at the time.
Spagola – I’d take those risks for a session on ne of Westworld’s Whorebots.
January 20, 2009 at 3:37 pm
*wipes beads of sweat from brow*
Think i’m going to have to ask for something first to help to calm me down. Got about 7 trillion butterflies in my guts right now… Maybe they’ll fly out when they open the sunroof.
This time tomorrow…
*gulps*
January 20, 2009 at 3:37 pm
Yes, I know that to be normal because kids freak and try and yank ’em out. I’d rather be out for that too for similar reasons… Fuck that, frankly. That sort of caper bothers me more than being opened up and stepped in.
Don’t listen to the nasty man Clarry. You’ll be as right as rain.
January 20, 2009 at 3:39 pm
Put a wig on your “fancy” toaster, and have away at it. Or isn’t it as fancy as you’ve made out?
January 20, 2009 at 3:44 pm
Oh, right. I must say, when the doctor said they’d be shoving a tube down my throat and I’d be fully conscious, it didn’t sound very promising. I was rather pleased to be knocked out cold. Shame they didn’t afford me the same courtesy when I had a barium enema, the buggers.
Clarry – More swabs, Mr. Pettifer! Damn it, man, I need more light here! We’re losing her! WE’RE LOSING HER!
*sound of frantic sawing*
January 20, 2009 at 3:46 pm
Spagolata – It ain’t that fancy. I suppose you could argue it has four fannies (that’s right – FANNIES … what of it?), but I wouldn’t advice shoving your mallet in any of ’em after turning ‘her’ on.
And you’d no doubt set fire to the wig, thinking about it …
January 20, 2009 at 3:48 pm
I shall come and haunt you Nappers…
My spirit will get in your computer and send love poems to all the boys on WWM, dashing your curmudgeonly status on this ‘ere site.
January 20, 2009 at 3:48 pm
A fair point, well made.
“The future’s bright, the future’s orange”. That was a big fib too.
January 20, 2009 at 3:50 pm
‘barium enema’ Ooh, fuck
I have to say Clarry, that is much, much worse than anything you’ll go through tomoz…
You may take comfort in that
January 20, 2009 at 3:50 pm
Clarry – There’s nothing wrong with a good love poem …
“Roses are red, violets are blue,
By all that’s fucking holy,
I’m going to MURDER you.
You miserable bitch, you’ve ruined my life,
Why the hell did I ever,
Take you for my wife?”
January 20, 2009 at 3:53 pm
Focus on friday Clarry, payday!
January 20, 2009 at 3:54 pm
The barium enema’s an evil little addition to any phyisician’s arsenal. I’m surprised, when the consultant said I was going to have one, the room didn’t darken, flames didn’t spark up around him and horns didn’t sprout from his head,
“YOU WILL ENDURE …. A BARIUM ENEMA! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
I’d prefer not to have another one.
January 20, 2009 at 3:56 pm
Mine’s a week on Friday! Bah!
January 20, 2009 at 3:57 pm
Payday that is, not barium enema.
January 20, 2009 at 3:59 pm
Yes, I’ve been told they’re rather uncomfortable… worse than being buggered by a mental donkey with nails glued to its fosh.
January 20, 2009 at 3:59 pm
None of this is as bad as what happened my missus. She broke and dislocated her ankle a couple of years ago and, as she suffers from some weird form of epilepsy after falling off the hand of the statue of Tennyson near Lincoln cathedral and ending up in a coma, had to have the ankle relocated without first having morphine. She then had to endure a further three operations on her ankle (after they kept fucking it up), all without that mighty shot of glorious pain relief when she came to. When they relocated the ankle, you could hear her scream in fucking space.
January 20, 2009 at 4:03 pm
I had surgery when I was 10 (or so) on my ear. Required full anaesthetic. As they say, it is bloody amazing going under, but coming round is fucking awful – especially if they try to force feed you as soon as you’re even slightly lucid as they did me.
When I (well – a bouncer) broke my nose they put cocaine solution up my nose before snapping it back into place. That was far more fun. i was battered for an hour or two afterwards (could’ve been concussion).
January 20, 2009 at 4:08 pm
I never had my nose re-set. I sort of assumed it wouldn’t be the last time my nose was going to be knocked about … and I was right. Now it looks like someone’s chucked a pudding at my face.
January 20, 2009 at 4:08 pm
That sounds awful but I would argue a kidney stone is as bad, if not worse.
I broke my ankle when I was 12 and walked on it for 6 weeks because when I told my mum I thought it might be broken she told me to ‘stop being silly’
After I wore out one side of my relatively new shoe she took notice (my foot had almost completely inverted) and I had to have physio for 6 months (three times a week) until it was straight. The Doctor wanted to break it and reset it but the consultant opted for physio. The latter would’ve been preferable, I’ve no doubt.
January 20, 2009 at 4:09 pm
Look at this poor sod….
http://wsc.co.uk/component/option,com_fireboard/Itemid,35/func,view/id,169699/catid,30/
BOOKMARK IT.
January 20, 2009 at 4:11 pm
I got that not being believed about an injury thing at school once. Mark Maclean dislocated my little finger during a furious bout of elbowing, and not one teacher took my bleats and whines seriously. I spent the whole fucking day at school with my little finger sticking out at a right angle to my hand. I mean, is there any wonder I can’t stand teachers?
January 20, 2009 at 4:16 pm
Bone-crunching violence, statue-related accidents and (according to Yahoo), “armed gang steals 3 packets of mints”. The North sounds a terrible place. What terrible misdeeds did you commit to bring on such biblical visitations??
January 20, 2009 at 4:21 pm
May I just point out that ‘during a furious bout of elbowing’ is one gift horse you all seem to be looking in the mouth?
January 20, 2009 at 4:23 pm
… this was my own mum NC -having said that she felt shit when the truth came out…
(Though it didn’t stop her making go to school when I had glandular fever six months later. Honestly, you had to be bleeding from the eyes…)
January 20, 2009 at 4:28 pm
My mother was like that. I think a lot of ’em were then, back when having a child was enough, and you didn’t then need to spend the rest of its life down at its level enduring Wacky Warehouses and Family-Friendly Days Out (or giving too much of a shit about whether it was happy or entertained or what-have-you, by God). My mother’s cure-alls were the ghastly Milk of Magnesia and the monstrous Kaolin and Morphine. She also seemed to have no sympathy for any break or illness I ever got.
January 20, 2009 at 4:30 pm
Oh shite http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=57649288960
January 20, 2009 at 4:32 pm
If you stare at an image of Mick Hucknall for too long, you’ll begin to bleed from the eyes.
Or so I’ve been told.
January 20, 2009 at 4:33 pm
‘My mother’s cure-alls were the ghastly Milk of Magnesia and the monstrous Kaolin and Morphine’
AHAHAHAHHAHA, me too!!
January 20, 2009 at 4:36 pm
Those bloody medicines! Broken leg? Milk of magnesia! Cancer? Kaolin and Morphine, m’boy! The AIDS? Half and half! I can still taste the fucking stuff to this day. Bleurgh!
She tried treating bloody MUMPS with Kaolin and Morphine, if you bloody please!
January 20, 2009 at 4:39 pm
It was all chalky if I recall, used to seperate in the bottle, half brown half white. Christ.
I think she still has some… is it even legal these days?
January 20, 2009 at 4:42 pm
Germolene!!!!!!!!
January 20, 2009 at 4:43 pm
Kaolin and morphine – I used to love it.
When I used to work as a dispenser in a pharmacy, you used to have to hide the kaolin and morphine as well as the dodo cough tablets under the counter as the skag heads used to abuse ’em.
January 20, 2009 at 4:44 pm
P.S That’s what I mean P – the norty boys would let it separate (the white stuff is the kaoline and the brown stuff is the morphine) and then drink the brown stuff.
January 20, 2009 at 4:46 pm
I don’t know if you can still get Kaolin and Morphine. I assume the children of Britain are still under the thumb of Milk of Magnesia though, the poor sods.
I imagine the ‘skag heads’ bought it for the morphine, did they? Must have rotted their guts clean through.
January 20, 2009 at 4:47 pm
I think they are onto a winner – they couldn’t really make little chef any worse.
Gordon and Jamie are top blokes. I’ve met Gorden, he’s a complete gent and nothing like his screen persona. To the best of my knowledge he’s never failed at anything significant, and his ban balance certainly suggests that is the case.
January 20, 2009 at 4:48 pm
Nick – Germoline? I used to dream of Germoline. It was TCP in our house. Whether it was swabbing wounds, gargling it for a sore throat, bathing in it or mopping the fucking floor with it, it was TCP all the bloody way. Cor, that used to sting your knees.
January 20, 2009 at 4:52 pm
Yeah you can still buy it – but it is hidden away from view. Only old people used to ask for these archaic items (k&m, gentian mixture and chestEze), i’m sure they’ll do away with ’em when the old people die out.
I haven’t worked in a pharmacy for over 10 years, but even then they’d get so worried about people dying you can’t even sell vitamin C to suspected druggies or buy paracetamol in greater quantities than 32. Of course if you really wanted to do yourself in there’s nothing to stop you going to another chemist is there?
January 20, 2009 at 4:53 pm
Shrinkingdad – I think you’ll find he failed at being a footballer, and he failed at his early business adventures. We all know about the latter because he never tires of telling people how he pulled himself up by his bootstraps after failing on any of the awful shows he has on the telly. Also, Hitler could be disarmingly charming if you met him in person, apparently.
(This snake-like duality also goes for a little girl I know. Praised to the hilt by her teachers and other kids’ mothers, an absolute little turd of a human being in the privacy of her own home.)
January 20, 2009 at 4:53 pm
P.S My mum used to put iodine onto my knee if I fell over – she would dab it on in the shape of a smiley face to take my mind off the terrible stinging.
January 20, 2009 at 4:54 pm
Good luck Clarry, ‘ospitals are ‘orrible, you have my sympathy. Hope its nothing too narsty.
I never got morphine even when I hurted my knee. Bastids.
January 20, 2009 at 4:55 pm
Clarry – I always get suspicious looks in Boots when I ask for their 400mg Ibuprofen. If they ask any questions, I give ’em a flash of my monstrous smile, and tell ’em the pills are the only way I can rid of my frequent hangovers. That shuts ’em up.
January 20, 2009 at 4:56 pm
NC – you’ve just reminded me about having to gargle TCP.
Mothers can be very very cruel.
Did yours pull your teeth out with bits of cotton as well?
Sick.
January 20, 2009 at 4:57 pm
Roszs – Ah, but we didn’t get morphine – we got Kaolin & Morphine. As far as I’m aware, kaolin is the only substance on earth that can gut-punch the fun out of that marvellous drug.
January 20, 2009 at 4:58 pm
Piqued said he had morphine… is he a filt’y liar?
January 20, 2009 at 5:00 pm
Roszs – My mother once gave me that classic piece of advice of tearing one of my teeth out with a piece of string attached to a doorknob (like you’d see in The Beezer). All I managed to do was tear a slice out of my lip.
She never liked kids.
January 20, 2009 at 5:01 pm
I think he meant when he was older having his old man’s kidney stones out.
January 20, 2009 at 5:04 pm
Aaaah.
*rereads thread*
Oh yes.
January 20, 2009 at 5:08 pm
That was a harrowing conversation.
I’m off to wrap myself in cotton wool.
Night!
January 20, 2009 at 5:27 pm
Cocks?
January 20, 2009 at 7:02 pm
Leave them by my door mate.
January 20, 2009 at 7:04 pm
Oh, and I’d hardly say that playing football at a professional level counts as a failure.
January 20, 2009 at 9:37 pm
He’s got a face like a radiator. Surely that doesn’t count as a success?
And he’s an insufferable prick. I’d eat nothing but gherkin sandwiches for the rest of my life if it meant he and Paul Burrell were bricked up in a cave together.
January 22, 2009 at 9:00 am
Oh look, Heston’s restaurant failed to make a profit and they ended the show with a Snow Patrol soundtrack to make us think it was a roaring success. Fantastic!
.
This show should have been called “Heston loves his new BMW M5”.
January 22, 2009 at 8:26 pm
Bring back Happy Eater is all I’ll say. And a very polished post by the way, for what it’s worth.
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