Price Eats Rice

This post is a follow up to the recently published Indifferently Sunny, in which I describe eating a burrito that contained rice.  The following tweet subsequently appeared on Twitter:

I felt I had to respond.

Mty feeling towards rice is thus:  It doesn’t taste bad, it just doesn’t taste of anything.  I don’t eat it because I just can’t see the point.  Can anybody give me a rational explanation for eating rice?  I didn’t think so.

The fact that I ate rice in no way justifies the wanton suggestion that I might even contemplate eating cheese.  It’s, frankly, disgusting.  If I could afford a super injunction, I’d have one slapped on JLS’s metaphorical ass immediately.

I expect an apology.

 

Indifferently Sunny

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Welcome to the third and final day of my boring Manchester\weather\dinner trilogy. Today, I’ve totally given up on the outside concept. It’s far too blowy.

Instead, I’ve made an incredibly maverick manoeuvre – I’ve had a burrito for dinner. A “burrito” is a kind of crazy Mexican sandwich that contains both rice and beans. I don’t eat rice or beans. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Incredibly, it was delicious. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve finished it now. There was some unfortunate “spilled rice on iPad screen” action, but this was easily remedied with a napkin. It’s safe to say that there are easier things to eat, though. And it’s wrapped in tin foil to help maintain its structural integrity, but then this plays havoc with dental fillings.

They’ve had a good go, but I really think the Mexican government need to put some funding into R&D vis a vis burrito dispension techniques.

Anyway, that concludes the business. Thanks for listening (reading). I’m back to my usual routine tomorrow, so expect some usual routine bloggery. If I can be bothered.

All the best.

Not So Sunny

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So, summer is over. What happened?

It was lovely this morning, I thought we were in for another day of (sort of) glorious sunshine. Instead, I’m having to sit inside. Boooo, you suck, British weather.

I stayed outside long enough to eat my butty – La Baguette, Minshull Street, Manchester, dishlicious – but could bear the cold no longer. I can’t really take the cold, but this is ridiculous. I’ve retreated to Pret A Manger – 99p for filter coffee, bargain hunters\cheapskates.

So, when I was eating my dinner, I dropped a bit of tomato onto my leg (this won’t surprise anybody that knows me) and I lightly rubbed it from my jeans with a serviette. The said napkin then became instantly blue. Hmmm. This seems like fate criticising me for shopping at Primark – as I was rebuked for this admission in yesterday’s post (Sunny). I’ll use this event to reevaluate my shopping habits. Or, you know, make sure I wash my jeans separately. It certainly explains the blue tinge that my sofa is sporting, anyway.

I think that’s probably everything that I have to tell you. Until next time,

A Bientot.

Sunny

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It’s warm today. Everybody is out. As you can see in the photo. I’m sat in Piccadilly Gardens, Manchester. I’m able to blog through the power of iPad + wifi hotspot generated on mobile phone. The ground is pretty damp and is ever so slightly seeping into the arse of my jeans. I don’t care, I’m British. This is what we do.

I can’t see any fellas with their tops off, so I can tell I’m not in Warrington. I know I’m not in Warrington, anyway. I got the train from Warrington to Manchester this morning, so it’s pretty obvious.

It’s a nice way to spend my dinner hour, despite the damp buttocks. The gigantic blue Primark sign looks down on me, beckoning me in to buy cheap clothes. Maybe some more £1 sunglasses. You can never have enough.

I’ll resist. I’m dying for a drink, so I’m off to get one. See you in a bit.

Saturday Is Biscuit Time

It’s a statistically (un)proven fact that blogs receive far few hits on days when you don’t post anything. Yet today, I’ve got nothing to write about and I’m going out in a bit. Do I fight fire with fire and just write a post about nothing off the top of my head?

Of course not. Those would be the actions of an utter cretin.

In other news, I invented the rules of an improv game today called “Biscuit Time” in which the referee regularly has to shout out the phrase “it’s biscuit time!” followed by the player making a biscuit-based pun. I fear that it may be the pinnacle of my creative journey. It’s all downhill from here.

In yet further news, I have now exhausted all the news that I possibly have to tell you. I think. Did I tell you about Biscuit Time? Oh, I did. Well that really is it.

I feel unclean for having wasted your time like this. I’m sorry.

P.s.

While you’re here – if you really are here – why not check out some of my other, and better, posts. Thanks.

iPad

SPRING BREAK: Woooooooooooo!

I’ve got an iPad woohoo.
I’m typing this post on it now..
Yeee hah.
This isn’t going to make any sense. Oh no.
I don’t care.
I’m disproportionately happy..

Hehe

See you later, guys.

Woop woop, it’s the sound of the police.

A Blogging Experiment

A few months ago, I wrote a blog post in which I said that I was going to stop blogging about blogging, and blogging about how many hits my blogs were getting (you can read that post, here, if you don’t believe me).   I’m pleased to say that I have so far avoided any posts of that, unbelievably tedious, nature, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I semi-break my self-imposed embargo.

My post rate has rapidly declined in recent times – 44 posts, so far this year over 2 blogs, which is actually a bit more than I would have guessed – so I would expect my number of hits to have fallen off.  However, having had a sneaky peek at my site stats the other day, I was shocked to see just how few hits I’ve been getting (with PSGOM suffering much more than The World of Sherby57).  Last month saw me get around 8 times less hits than at my peak.  I don’t post 8 times less frequently, so what’s the reason for the drop off?  Does the regularity of daily updates make that much of a difference?  Am I writing about less interesting subjects? Has me writting goned rubbish? I don’t know, but I’d sure like to find out.

Aha! You see, there was a point to all this and it wasn’t just an excuse for me to talk about stats again.  I’ve got two weeks off work now and I thought it would be good to perform an experiment.  I’m going to attempt a concentrated burst of bloggery over the next 16 days, just to see if it makes any difference to the number of hits I get.  My aim is to average at least 1 post per day per blog – a total of 32 posts.  I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to manage it, but now that it’s written down and published on the internet, I might be shamed into completion.

I’ve already written on TWoS57 today, so I’ve completed 6.25% of my quest.  Wish me luck.

 

Looking Lived In

There’s a time in every blog’s life in which you must publish a series of pretty inconsequential posts, just so that it doesn’t look abandoned.  This is, very much, one of those times.  Get over it.  It’s happening.

Don’t you just hate those people that can’t be bothered parking properly in front of convenience stores, so that instead of walking an extra 10 metres from a designated parking space, they block the road and cause all manner of anguish?  I don’t want to sound reactionary, but those people should be shot.  Probably just with an air rifle, I’m not completely mental.  We could get Ashley Cole to do it.

Ashley Cole gets a bad press, doesn’t he?  It’s probably well deserved, after all, he does earn a lot of money and so must be a bad man.  He also cheated on “the nation’s sweetheart” with some pretty rough-looking women in a nightclub.  It seems inconcievable to the average man-on-the-street (whoever he is) that anybody could be unfaithful to anybody as good looking as Cheryl.  Hey, all men are bastards, aren’t they?

Not all men, obviously.  That would be something of a racist statement. The worst thing about racist statements is the whole racial aspect.  I try to avoid them like the plague.  I’m OK mentioning the plague, it affected everybody.

Imagine if you got the plague and plaque mixed up.  It could lead to a pretty embarrassing\deadly encounter with your dentist.  You wouldn’t really want your dentist going anywhere near your septic pustules, would you?

Remember those red tablets that showed up all the plaque you may (or may not) have had coating your teeth?  They were a bit sinister.  I think they were actually a test to find out who the vampires were in schools.  I remember that pasty Romanian kid that went missing from my class. It was never explained exactly where he went, but they erected a huge crucifix in the playground soon after. Mysterious.

And that’s your lot.  My blog now looks lived in and all is right with the world.  Well, clearly all is not right in the world by any stretch of the imagination.  That’s a problem for another day.

Still Struggling

I’m still struggling to think of anything to write about.  After the amazing success of Bears, Romcoms and Cats 2, I thought I’d repeat the same trick and see what I was blogging about exactly a year ago.

What I was blogging about a year ago today was The Gravy Boat – Episode 11.  Yeah, that’s right, it was another fantastic episode of my wonderful podcast.  Having been recorded a full 365 days hence, I can’t really remember what I waffled on about in it.  However, the related post says that I covered these topics:

 

  • An apology
  • A failed attempt at being a local radio DJ
  • The return of the Portuguese waiter
  • Another attempt at observational comedy
  •  

    I’ve no idea what I was apologising for.  I hope it wasn’t some kind of serious crime.  That would be terrible.  The other bits I have vague recollections of.   The Portuguese waiter is a tremendous voice that I need to do more often.  Go and have a listen and I’m sure you’ll agree.

    I could go back and listen and tell you what was going on for sure, but I’ve never listened to any of my podcasts.  I just can’t bear the sound of my own voice.  I know I’m not the only person who suffers from this affliction, but it’s kind of a hindrance when you’re doing a podcast.  If anyone fancies listening to the episode and posting a comment as to what it was all about, then that would be super.  Just follow the link above and fill your (ear) boots.

    Should you wish to listen to more of The Gravy Boat, and why wouldn’t you, then why not try the links below?  Thanks ever so much in advance.

    You can listen via iTunes, here:

    http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?id=340803894

    Or, if you prefer, you can just listen to it here:

    http://thegravyboat.podbean.com/

    Or, if like me, you have got rid of your iPhone and have realised how great Google Reader\Listen is, the RSS feed is:

    http://thegravyboat.podbean.com/feed/

     

    Bears, Romcoms and Cats 2

    I’m really struggling to think of anything to write on here.  It’s a nightmare.  Literally.

    In an attempt to inspire myself, I thought I’d see what I wrote about this time last year.  What I wrote was Bears, Romcoms and Cats.  It was a post in which I discussed bears, romcoms and cats.  Three of my favourite topics.

    The bear in question was me.  Don’t be afraid, I was only a metaphorical bear.  365 days later and I’m pleased to report that I’ve stopped growling and haven’t been involved in any honey-based adventures.

    Hmmm.  The “recommended tags” feature is flagging up “Reese Witherspoon”.  Surely she is the queen of the sort-of-a-ghost romcom genre.  It also flagged up “Owen Wilson”.  He isn’t the king of any romcom sub-genres.  He ain’t even a prince.

    Well, technically, this constitutes a blog post.  I’m sure that any adequate lawyer could rip that assertion to pieces, but it’s the best that I’m going to be able to muster.  Dinner time is over, kiddies.  Let’s go to work.

    P.s.

    Romcom Joke:

    Q: What is the favourite grain and method of eating said grain of the star of hit sort-of-a-ghost romcom, Just Like Heaven?

    A: Rice with a spoon.

    Oh, yes.  I am the best.

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