The weather's been a bit iffy lately here in ver saaf. It's gone from a sweaty t-shirt dreching (well almost) sun-fest last weekend, to grey skies, hail, snow (and now rain) and knacker-numbing cold. It's depressing and degrading and that's why...
...I couldn't have pudding today.
Our staff canteen is frequently slapped about the chops by its visitors because of one thing or another, someone once claimed to have found a wood chip (floodgates to pun-city are now officially open) in amongst his pie and chips. He complained to the resident health & safety team and had the canteen's chops slapped. Now had he not been poking about in his lunch, blatantly looking for something to whine about, he would have enjoyed his nosh along with the rest of us...and anyway at what age exactly is it no longer rude to "play with your food"?
Anyway - every Friday it's Funtime Friday, and in the true spirit of lowering one's barnet and really letting go, our superior chefs throw on a feast of fish and chips, with a choice of mushy peas, beans and fried onion rings. You can have lemon on your cod piece and tartar sauce dollopped neatly on your rim should you so desire, or just take the soft option and "go veggie" with a lasagne or something equally ladylike. Basically, they cater for all, pop on a fab spread on a daily basis and even go as far as to include a rather homely and practical sponge cake-based pudding, drowned in a sea of sweet lump-free custard (made with man's milk and none of yer bloody light weight diet nonsense skimmed malarky neither). These puddings are baked by angels, delivered by the ghosts of dead popes and smack of good old fashioned home crafted baking by the ultimate master baker...
...until today. Nope - today something went wrong. Today, on the day the country was wrapped in an April freeze, the day I'm staring a bleak cycle ride home in the cold, the day Dave Steele found he couldn't upload the latest chapter in his genius work "ICON" because of unknown technical issues with Blogspot.com, our dinner ladies thought "stuff it", the result of which was realised in the form of fecking cheesecake. CHEESECAKE!?!?!
Tonight some of our elderly and frail are going to perish because it's so damn cold, and we're offered cheesecake.
I love my staff canteen, dearly, but when things like this happen I have to take a moment to weigh up what's really going on...is it a glitch in the matrix? Is it a wormhole? Is Sam Beckett going to come crashing through the serving hatch (sending splinters of wood flying in all directions....woah....think about it) with that carefully crafted gaze of despair and confusion planted firmly on the space between his rosy cheeks???
I'm not sure, but one thing that's certain is that without a pudding to warm the soul, especially on such a grey and miserable afternoon, there's only one substitute worth considering...I think it's time I made some tea.
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