Sunday, July 26, 2009

B3ta Poached Eggs

B3ta Poached Eggs, originally uploaded by zombiecoterie.

I'm so late to the party again. I had some eggs in the fridge and had a little sigh, thinking I'd like poached eggs, but that if I wanted them I'd either have to go out and pay for them or I'd have to put up with runny, string soup.

Then, I remembered that I am not alone in the universe and that the internet knows everything (apart from where to find the 4-digit code for the radio in my MĂ©gane) and turned, of course, to B3ta.

And indeed, I'm now full of yummy poached eggs and the eateries of Chiswick lose out on a customer. Alas! I am an agent of the recession at last!

Had a good day yesterday, met up with J's family for lunch and showed them what we've done with the flat, which met with their approval, then Jonathan wanted me to take pictures of him in his newest sexy outfit - you'll have to ask him for them, but I might post the comedy out-takes just to piss him off - and then we went book shopping in Oxfam (more recession-guilt!) and found some brilliant stuff, came home for a disco nap and then headed out for Niall's birthday party.

I'm slightly getting over my hatred of comedy karaoke voices, but I still spent most of the time hiding in the garden from enthusiastic versions of Total Eclipse of the Heart done Pantera stylee (perhaps unintentionally) and even gave in when forced to sing Running Up That Hill. I never knew that those were the words! I lost on competition mode and Jonathan kept reminding me of this. I think that alone means I should post photos of him in a jockstrap and leather chaps falling over while he pretends to stamp on the camera.

Saw lots of friends I really wish I saw outside of parties and then went on to Duckie. One act with a quick and witty gag and a fantastic jumper, one which didn't quite have enough chutzpah but seemed solid enough, then some standing around outside listening to music and shouted homophobic abuse from people driving past.

"I remember when they used to throw eggs."

"I used to be allergic to eggs. I got quite scared but secretly wanted to get hit so I'd die and it'd be dramatic."

"I can see the headline now - Man Killed By Homophobic Egg. I can't understand why someone would drive all the way over here with a box of eggs when they could be sat at home watching television or enjoying their improved chances with all the spare ladies we leave in our wake."

"Perhaps it's a sex thing."

"Internalised homophobia?"

"No, a fetish. I bet he'd turn up at the Hoist half an hour later trying to wank up a soufflé."

I love how rubbish we are at actually dealing with homophobia and instead of even acknowledging that someone was just shouting at us and wishing we were dead and instead turned to recipes and sex clubs.

Speaking of which, Jonathan went on to show off his new outfit at one of those fashion clubs where every garment has to cost over £100 a piece or they won't let you in. Somehow he managed to get Griff in, too, wearing my hand-me-downs, so I lingered for a bit, got slightly affronted by someone's nonchalance about working for an oil prospecting company, "It's okay, if they asked me to help survey for Oil Sands, I'd walk away," as if otherwise it's okay. Still, I suppose it was good he was able to say Peak Oil point's certainly passed if we mean in terms of ease of acquisition, probably passed if we mean the point of maximum extraction and definitely not if we're talking about bioavailability in general, especially if we explore algae producing methods.

Interesting, I suppose. He said this generation will experience fuel hardship, just as the last experienced gluttony. The next generation will bear the brunt of the need to adapt if we're to stop the world from healing herself from human actions.

With that in mind, I went off and drove home alone, more annoyed about not knowing where to find the code for the radio than terrified by my carbon footprint and the tyre-trails of pain I am leaving for the next generation. If I had an ounce of queeny wit, I'd say I was driving out of spite for the attempts on my life by egg-flinging heterosexualists.

However, too many of my friends have babies at the moment for that to be remotely true. I'm just content to coo at ikkle babies a lot.

Anyway, it seems my poached eggs were poisoned with a slight wistfulness, probably something that bled from the cling film I really can't re-use or from the proxy guilt of going with the cheaper rather than the greener energy provider when we moved here.

I should probably go and try to do something earth-friendly today, but I'll mess it up, I'm sure. If I'm an eco-warrior, I think I just failed my yellow belt grading.

You're probably all mashed on air-mile awesome cocaine and by-product-tastic GBL at the moment, so I've got the moral high ground yet, even if it's on the steps to the gallows.

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