Taboo

Thinking the unthinkable

I made a sausage sandwich for breakfast yesterday. That should be a happy event, but just when everything was almost ready to assemble, I had a thought of unspeakable repugnance. Not a Gary Glitter, Jimmy Savile, Stuart Hall, Jeremy Clackson type thought (about Clarkson: give it time, it’ll happen), but pretty awful.

We were almost out of brown sauce, just the dregs in the bottle. I almost went for the tomato ketchup. To the point of actually getting it out of the fridge. Thankfully, I managed to improvise:

Take one almost empty bottle of brown sauce.

Add some vinegar (you know, water it down like they do in all the greasy spoons).

Add the contents of two little boxes of barbecue sauce you find in a remote corner of the fridge.

Replace cap. Shake and serve with a sausage sandwich.

Close one, eh?

They just said on the football…

…that the award-winning groundsman at Leicester is Ed Mow. Honest. Helped by his assistant, Daisy Greengrass (okay, I made that up).

Conflict, what conflict?

Stewart Jackson is a Tory MP. He’s refusing to pay back £54,000 of taxpayers’ money parliament’s own watchdog are after him for. Stewart Jackson is a member of the public accounts committee.

Another campaign

This time NUSP. Not Until Stewart Pays. Anyone with the government after them, in the form of HMRC or whoever, should be able to respond that they’re in dispute, and that they’ll work towards a resolution. Just as soon as Stewart Jackson’s case is satisfactorily resolved.

Ellie Mae O’Hagan on that legacy

“It is true that working-class culture has dwindled over the last 30 years. When Thatcher smashed the trade unions and British industry with them, she also smashed solidarity, community, and hope.”

Nice one, Ellie (the Guardian, today)