Tag Archives: fast food

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I went to McDonalds for breakfast a couple of days ago after my blood test. I’m drawn to junk food, and have no excuses. While I was there I indulged in several of my favourite pastimes, including procrastinating and eavesdropping.

Can you guess who I was eavesdropping on? The clue is in the title.

I’ll pause for a moment while you work it out. I bet Derrick gets it. He has that sort of mind.

Any way, there they were, talking loudly about husbands and work and friends and children. All pretty standard stuff, even though I did have to smile at the irony of a conversation that dwelt at length on diet, low-fat recipes and the merits of various slimming group leaders. McDonalds is not generally associated with slim people. Despite this they semed passionate about the idea of dieting.

This is an example of why I shouldn’t really listen to the conversations of other people, as I felt a growing urge to tell them they’d be better off staying out of fast food outlets rather than going to Weight Watchers.

Conversations can be a bit dull at times, I know mine often are, but then it became unexpectedly entertaining.

One of them, it seems, is in the habit of taking confidential papers home to shred them instead of shredding them at work.

“Why’s that?” One of them asked.

“Because they have a cross-cut shredder and it cuts the paper up into little bits. The one at home leaves nice long strips.”

“What difference does that make?”

I waited with bated breath, expecting some gem of wisdom relating to document  security and confidentiality.

“My pet rabbit prefers the long strips.”

 

Another Fat Lady...

Another Fat Lady…

Have you worked the title out yet?

It’s based on the bingo call for 88 – two fat ladies…

 

Thoughts from a Fried Chicken Shop

KFC Mapperley Nottingham

KFC Mapperley Nottingham

Julia had an appointment for lunch with some of her colleagues from work yesterday. She has more friends than I do, and no shortage of invitations. As a consequence I found myself in a familiar situation – dining alone at a fast food outlet. Fortunately I like my own company. and I like fast food. The choice was KFC.

My first thought on arriving was “Where are all the people?”. I know KFC suffered from bad press recently with their supply chain debacle, but I had thought there would be more than three people in there at 1.30pm. That number was reduced to two when one of us left with his food to eat it elsewhere.

My second thought was that I was surprised by the average age of the clentele. I always think of fried chicken being food for young people. Bearing in mind that I’m 60, and that I’m not wanting to be ungallant about the lady who was the other customer, I reckon that our average age was about 70. This did fall when a couple of youths came in, but not as far as the drop in the average IQ.

This brought me on to thought three – why do white youths adopt the lisping patois they seem to associate with black youth in the ghetto? Or should that be “lithping patois”. It completely seems to escape them that we don’t have ghettos in Nottingham, and that there’s a distinct lack of rap music. I’m not sure whether it’s a case of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery or some sort of condescending cultural appropriation.

Anyway, back to a thought with less potential for argument. Would it be possible to develop a vaccine, or maybe a yoghurt drink, to increase IQ?

Talking of dodgy liquids, I had the gravy. It isn’t really gravy, and Colonel Sanders once referred to it as  “sludge” that had a “wall-paper taste”. That was while he was acting as a brand ambassador for the company after selling it. His idea of an ambassador seems slightly at odds with mine. The company felt this too and sued him. They were unsuccessful, indicating that judicial opinion was on the Colonel’s side.

It’s better than that now, though I do think it’s been better in the past. This isn’t unusual, I tend to think everything was better in the past.

The final thought, as I stared across the road, was that 20 years ago Collectors Corner was still in business and there were none of those shops about that bought old clothes by weight. This is progress.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A closed collectors’ shop – the very definition of sadness

And on that note I think it’s time to go.

 

Four days in October

We’ve had a lot on over the last few days, including illness, a 450 mile trip, a funeral and  a lack of internet access (I decided not to take a laptop).

None of this is particulalrly interesting, but I didn’t want you to think I’d been slacking.

There were a few points of interest – wondering what they were doing to the stand at Epsom racecourse; watching a buzzard being mobbed by a crow (if one crow can actually “mob” something); adding more to the family history; seeing a parakeet fly over Leatherhead Crematorium; seeing mistletoe growing at a height of only six feet (it’s amazing how it grows straight from the branch – even though I know it has an enzyme that allows the seed to get through the bark, I was half expecting to see roots of some sort), and going round the Royal Worcester Museum.

We could have done more in Worcester, as the Cathedral (which houses the tomb of King John, who died in Newark 800 years ago this year) and The Commandery are both very close to the Royal Worcester Museum. However, it was raining, it was mid-day and it was Saturday. The car parks were full, the streets were busy and we were thinking of home. In other words, I’m getting old.

Final photos are of my tea on Thursday night.  We set off after Julia finished work and got straight on the M1. We stopped at Leicester Forest East services and went to Burger King. Note that the burger on the [poster has loads of crisp bacon protruding from the sides of the bun, whereas mine struggles to reach the edge of the burger.

I will make no further comment., apart from to say that those rashers came from terribly small pigs.

 

 

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