Another breakfast recipe in the form of ham and egg breakfast bites – these couldn’t be simpler to make and the recipe will take no time at all to type, so let me rattle something else off. I was in the bath earlier (what can I say, I thought I’d make an effort for work tomorrow and, after hours of hard gardening, my bollock-consommé was particularly strong) when I happened across a chapter in Bill Bryson’s newest book where he listed ten of his irrational dislikes. First thought? The cheeky faced bearded bugger had clearly read my previous blog entry and nicked the idea. Second thought? As if a wonder like Bill Bryson would read my blog. I love Bill – my favourite author in the world. If I can get to 60 and be as witty and verbose as him, I’ll be a happy, better-bearded man. My previous irrational dislikes can be found here, but here’s a few more…
spitting in public
Spitting should never happen. It’s a vile process – unless you’ve ingested some kind of poison, there’s no reason to blow great chunks of lungbutter out onto the street. You’ll see people walking along spitting away merrily like they’ve got a mouthful of cat hair and it’s all I can do not to reach across and set their face on fire. Apparently I’m the one in the wrong if I do that. Pfft. I’m tempted to add spitting in private onto the list but I can think of at least one situation where someone may prefer to spit rather than swallow. Amateurs. I gargle.
baby on board stickers
The most pointless, self-indulgent little sticker known to man, other than the picture of Alan Shearer grinning his big smug smile in the 1997 football sticker album. I can’t bear Alan Shearer – I’ve met him, and he’s a boring, self-aggrandising arse. Anyway, what’s the point of these baby on board stickers? Do you think I was planning to drive onto your backseat and through your headrests until I saw your pink Comic Sans sticker of shite and decided against it? Some say it’s for the fire brigade to know immediately in a crash that there’s a baby somewhere in the crushed metal. I dare say that if an accident was so severe that the fire brigade couldn’t spot your baby mewling away in the back then chances are no-one is walking away from it anyway.
mothers using their pushchairs to stop traffic
Oddly specific one this. I drive to work down the same street every day, which coincides with when the parents are taking their adorable children to school. I say adorable children like one might say adorable terminal illness or adorable mass genocide. More often than not, some vacant-looking, red-eyed pyjama-clad monstrosity will, instead of crossing at the many safe crossing points, just push her pushchair into the road to try and cross. Nevermind teaching your kid how to cross the road safely, nevermind almost causing an accident because you’re too selfish to cross in the right place, you just get out there. Bah!
self-appointed traffic wardens who wear cameras
This is a difficult one. I absolutely understand why cyclists and cars have those cameras which record the road in front of you – there’s that many bell-ends on the road to justify it. But what makes me seethe is when you overtake a cyclist, leave plenty of room, indicate back in and they STILL tap their helmet and wag their fingers like I’m a dog who has shat on the carpet. You know that if you watch it back on Youtube later it’ll be accompanied by someone’s thin reedy voice reading out your registration and the sticky noise of someone masturbating furiously.
I swear, everything in my house dings and dongs and bleeps at me. Put something on the fancy induction hob? It’ll do a little chirrup. Our smoke alarm system occasionally decides to launch a test with a brash American woman saying ‘THIS IS JUST A TEST’ – presumably a test to see how much blood can pour from my ears before I dismantle her. Our fridge beeps if we leave the door open for more than a second and it blares if the ice-dispenser gets too full or if the freezer is too full. The washing machine beeps each time it reaches a new stage in the cycle. My Wii U flashes when there’s a new notification and my Mac beeps whenever someone leaves us a facebook comment, or an email, or every time Siri has a shite. TwoChubbyCubs Towers is beginning to look and sound like a NASA control room and it vexes me.
people who stir their hot drink like they’re whisking eggs
There’s no need! Just give it a couple of stirs with your spoon and sit the fuck down. It makes my teeth rattle and my blood boil when they go at it like they’re trying to squeeze every last molecule of tea or take the finish off the cup, not least because I have decent Le Creuset cups and I don’t want bloody scratches on them.
Look, 99.9% of comments we get via the blog and facebook are wonderful, funny or useful, but we get some proper humdingers too. No: we won’t explain every facet of the plan to you, we’re not paid and we’re not consultants. Also, don’t have a pop at us if your Tesco in Wolverhampton didn’t have any 5% mince, it’s not our ruddy fault. And if you’re the lady with sand in her vag because I mentioned having to get up constantly in a cinema to let someone nip outside to the toilet and you took that as a full-scale assault on the incontinent, well, kiss my boobs. I knew the person I was getting up for and she’s only verbally incontinent.
Whenever we are on a diet, three things happen: Dominos have their 50% off week, Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream goes to £2 a tub and we start getting a tsunami of takeaway leaflets through the door – all with the same dodgy photos of their food downloaded from google images, all with the same balloon fonts and all with the worst spelling mistakes. I like my nan (or rather I did, bless her, she’s dead now) but the thought of a free hot and spicy nan with my korma puts me right off. These will be the same type of places where you get a) tins of pop rather than cans of coke and b) roughly fingered for a free kebab.
I might have touched on this before with my many moans about scented bloody candles and their pointless bloody names (A Child’s Fucking Wish, am I right?) but hell, it bears repeating. I’m yet to smell an air-freshener that doesn’t make my nose crinkle. They’re universally awful. Fair enough, if you spend decent money you can buy a decent candle with a reasonable smell (something like The White Company) but otherwise, open a bloody window. Those little hissy air-fresheners in public loos that smell ostensibly of pine? A load of bollocks! I’m not transported to a crisp and verdant forest with a tiny hiss, no, instead it smells like I’ve shit in a grass-clippings bin.
That’s 10, I could go on. But let’s call it a day. Ham and egg breakfast bites, then:
to make ham and egg breakfast bites, you’ll need (making enough for twelve, just scale back down if you want less)
- a pack of decent wafer thin ham
- 12 large eggs
- a tin of baked beans
- salt and pepper
- a muffin tin greased with a few squirts of olive oil or some Frylight
to make ham and egg breakfast bites, you should:
- layer a few slices of ham over each hole of the muffin tin and push in, so a ‘cup’ forms in each hole
- put a small spoonful of beans in there
- gently, crack an egg over the top – you might find it easier to crack an egg into a glass and pour it on, othewise you’re going to leave slimy residue all over the worktop and your partner will think you’ve been paying lip service to yourself in the kitchen, you filthy bugger
- crack a bit of pepper on top if you like and put in the oven
- cook for around 25 minutes, though you might like to let them cook a bit longer to firm them up
- once they’re done, let them cool – they’ll keep in a sealed box in the fridge for a couple of days
Hi chubbers – me too also a chubster and finding it hard to stop eating crap – love all your recipes tried a lot of them but eat too much – potion control is OUT OF CONTROL !!! sooooo can you take things a little further by letting us know your daily eating habits ( bfast snax lunch and tea ) also if recipes are for 1 or more – common help me oot need a bikini bod real soon luv ya xxx Dee –
Wait… Have you been reading my shit list ? You appear to have mentioned the majority of what is on there .. Apart from expanding on the ‘using children to stop traffic’ .. Where I live the large portion of the residents appear to suffer from terminal arrogance .. By which I mean the next to step off the kerb strut halfway across the road – stop – glare and attempt to suck their teeth at me when I dare to be in the road in my car and dare to look disgruntled will indeed suffer from a terminal bout of becoming my bonnet ornament.. ? And also the bit when a mother literally drags her kids across the road in front of me despite the poor shits screaming the green cross code at her and getting another glare / finger expression for my audacity to drive a car in the road she wanted to cross… Oh.. And Bill Bryson ? An absolute genius.. Currently reading notes from a small island and I’m howling .. Difficult to explain my snorting my muller light yoghurts through my nose in the works canteen to most people who don’t understand that I’m not reading twilight bollocks or Harry fucking Potter !!! (Because I’m slightly goth and have tattoos they think I should be.. Pffttsss bitch please.. Vampires do not fucking sparkle you dipshits).
Anyway enough of my torrent of abuse.. Great post fella.. Thanks again for jolly good titter ?
Hello, I am interested in making your ham and egg breakfast bites and I was wondering what temperature you should put the oven on?
Oops! How silly of us! It’s 170 degrees – I’ll add that to the recipe!
Skanky candles – need I say more? Other pet hates? Cyclists who can’t decide whether they are pedestrians or on the road. Wanting the best of both worlds. Shitehawks. People you don’t know who think because you have tattoos that they can come up and stroke them. Look by all means, but please, being tattooed doesn’t give carte blanche to strangers groping or pawing you with greasy mitts. Psychics and tarot readers who will spew any old gubbins to vulnerable folk for bucks. Cross my palm with silver? Cross your card reader with plastic and keep them hooked in, more like. Tweak police – miserable control freaks. People I meet socially who, when they find out you work in mental health, proceed to deluge you with their life story in acute detail and expect you to listen and make it all better for them. I’m not at work now, mate. Let me swallock my merlot in peace.
Pah !! I hear ya about tattoos…I get the usual.. Did it hurt ? Yes of course it fucking hurt.. Are you mental ?
I also hate it when people think that just because I love animals I should automatically be a vegetarian!! Er no mate.. Anything with a pulse please.. Oh and vegans.. Full stop !
Oh and like you .. My job as a customer service advisor for a beer distribution company always comes with ‘huh bet you get loads of beer free’ no… No we don’t and thanks for reminding me that I have a shit job with absolutely no perks !! Pffttss..
‘vacant-looking, red-eyed pyjama-clad monstrosity with more partners than teeth ‘ in a rush to buy their fags and get back home in time for Jeremy Kyle!
Bloody love Bill Byrson?
We love him too! 😀
See you could be my brother ,I have more foibles and things that truly piss me off than things that send me over the top in raptures lol xxx