Little Chefs and camp cakes.

I had the morning off after working on Saturday, but had to waste it going to the doctor about an inflamed eye-lid. I did get to go to Birtley Home Bakery afterwards, as I'd been as good as gold and very brave. I had one of their peach melbas. This is a fantastically british invention. A pastry case contains a tiny lump of tinned peach, this is covered in a pile of cream roughly the size of a tennis ball, and the cream is then encased in a thick layer of icing. In this so called 'peach' melba there is probably about 1/8 of a peach. Or in other words, if you tried to get your 5 a day via peach melbas, you'd have to eat 40. That's 14,000 calories. A week's worth.

Anyway, walking back to the car I noticed I was walking very camply- arm horizontally forward from the elbow, pinching the top of the bag between thumb and first two fingers, ring and pinky extended. (I mean fingers. It wasn't THAT camp.) But it seems this is the only way to carry a single cream cake once it's placed in a paper bag and given a little twist so the point is at the top. I tried swinging it manfully at my side as you would a sports bag, but I had to swing gently and crook my arm a little to prevent it bashing on my thigh. If anything, this was even worse.

On another food related note, while going to gigs I've sometimes stopped at the little chef. I got to thinking that maybe they really do only emply little chefs, as their name and logo implies. Perhaps a lot of failed jockeys drift into the work.

'Oh jaysus, wid'ya look at that, now? I can't even see the fekin grill. A right bloody shambles this is turning owt te be. Somebody wants what, basil? An' here's me with a spice rack half way up the bastard wall.'