It can't have escaped your notice that the blog entries are slowly drying up. They are getting further and further apart and the humour level is fading too. Perhaps it's time to draw a line under it.
The honest truth is I've lost the will to keep it running. It's evolved so much, and I feel I have to monitor everything I write, which I shouldn't have to. That sort of takes the fun out of updating it. I can't say my life is a barrel of laughs at the moment (for various reasons) but the online diary is no longer the best place for me to let off steam, or cry on an imaginary shoulder.
In true Acadamy Award style, I would like to thank all my loyal readers for sticking with it for so long. I'd like to thank everyone that has made an appearance within the diary too, and I'd like to thank everyone who has been part of my life during the past two years.
The blog won't close, it will still be here, it just won't have regular updates. I'm sure I"ll pop back to keep giving you all Magnificent Octopus updates but other than that, the doors of the 'idiot' blog are closing for the last time...
...last one out, don't forget to switch off the lights.
March 13, 2010
February 28, 2010
The Malteser Snickers
Well I want to call it the Malta Marathon, but thanks to the bloody Yanks, we have to call it Snickers now!
The last Sunday of Feb every year is the date for the Malta Marathon. Not quite on the scale of the London version, but still a large part of the Maltese athletics calendar. Visitors flock to the island from all of the world to take part in this legendary race...
ok, I'm building this up far too much. Yes it's big on the Maltese calendar, and yes, people do come from around the world, but not surprisingly, they only tend to come to take part once. I was reading through an online forum set up after last years event, and almost every comment had the same points. Running half the race along a dual carriage way which hasn't been closed for traffic, running on roads that have bigger potholes than swimming pools, running through areas around the water stations that have turned into ice rinks when there is spilt water (refer to a previous blog entry for me to prove I can sympathise with this point). Basically, it's not a marathon, it's a 26 mile assault course.
The finish line is at the end of Sliema harbour front, and the final 2 miles is along the promenade. For this monumental section, one side of the road is actually cut off from traffic, so they can at least finish without the threat of having a speeding van overtaking them. I was lucky enough to have a 'ringside' seat about 100 yards from the finish line, and considering the temperature at midday was pushing 90 degrees, it just added to the enjoyment that the participants are a bunch of idiots.
One gentleman did actually collapse opposite the pub I was sat outside. I hadn't realised at first, I was too engrossed in my book, I only realised when I saw every other person sat around me stand up to have a nosey look at the scene. 100 yards from the finish and you fall over.....you can't help but laugh. I bet as he was ferried into the back of the ambulance on a gurney he was begging the driver to at least take him through the finish line before carting him off to the hospital.
Do I sound unsympathic? I hope so, because I am. What a joke of an event. Even funnier was participants were told to meet at the finish line at 6.30am this morning, where they would be taken by bus to the start (the bus trip costing them 3 Euros). When they finish, their personal belongings could be collected from the Waterfront Hotel (which they ran past about 2 miles before the finish). No one bothered to tell them they could get to the start on their own for 47c on public transport. I also like the fact that they were warned that 'the roads were not closed, but runners had the right of way, and marshalls would be on hand to control traffic'. What this actually meant was, traffic police treated the runners like cars, and stopped them running at junctions, to allow cars through, then held up the traffic to let runners through. I know I'm not a long distance runner, but I can imagine being held up half way round a marathon circuit would throw me off my routine to some extent!
I can imagine a marathon runner wanting to compete as part of a holiday, or because they are trying to take part in as many different marathons around the world, especially as the weather has been so nice recently, but if anyone came just to take part in this long distance run, I only have one response....
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
The last Sunday of Feb every year is the date for the Malta Marathon. Not quite on the scale of the London version, but still a large part of the Maltese athletics calendar. Visitors flock to the island from all of the world to take part in this legendary race...
ok, I'm building this up far too much. Yes it's big on the Maltese calendar, and yes, people do come from around the world, but not surprisingly, they only tend to come to take part once. I was reading through an online forum set up after last years event, and almost every comment had the same points. Running half the race along a dual carriage way which hasn't been closed for traffic, running on roads that have bigger potholes than swimming pools, running through areas around the water stations that have turned into ice rinks when there is spilt water (refer to a previous blog entry for me to prove I can sympathise with this point). Basically, it's not a marathon, it's a 26 mile assault course.
The finish line is at the end of Sliema harbour front, and the final 2 miles is along the promenade. For this monumental section, one side of the road is actually cut off from traffic, so they can at least finish without the threat of having a speeding van overtaking them. I was lucky enough to have a 'ringside' seat about 100 yards from the finish line, and considering the temperature at midday was pushing 90 degrees, it just added to the enjoyment that the participants are a bunch of idiots.
One gentleman did actually collapse opposite the pub I was sat outside. I hadn't realised at first, I was too engrossed in my book, I only realised when I saw every other person sat around me stand up to have a nosey look at the scene. 100 yards from the finish and you fall over.....you can't help but laugh. I bet as he was ferried into the back of the ambulance on a gurney he was begging the driver to at least take him through the finish line before carting him off to the hospital.
Do I sound unsympathic? I hope so, because I am. What a joke of an event. Even funnier was participants were told to meet at the finish line at 6.30am this morning, where they would be taken by bus to the start (the bus trip costing them 3 Euros). When they finish, their personal belongings could be collected from the Waterfront Hotel (which they ran past about 2 miles before the finish). No one bothered to tell them they could get to the start on their own for 47c on public transport. I also like the fact that they were warned that 'the roads were not closed, but runners had the right of way, and marshalls would be on hand to control traffic'. What this actually meant was, traffic police treated the runners like cars, and stopped them running at junctions, to allow cars through, then held up the traffic to let runners through. I know I'm not a long distance runner, but I can imagine being held up half way round a marathon circuit would throw me off my routine to some extent!
I can imagine a marathon runner wanting to compete as part of a holiday, or because they are trying to take part in as many different marathons around the world, especially as the weather has been so nice recently, but if anyone came just to take part in this long distance run, I only have one response....
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
February 25, 2010
Things That go Bump in the Night
I had every intention of adding a new blog entry a few days ago, but a small incident has sort of prevented me from getting too much computer access. Allow me to explain.
I was heading to work for a 'late' shift last Sunday (late shift is 2pm until 10pm if you're interested). Everything was going to plan, at the bus stop for about 1:15 and a few minutes later a bus arrived. It was one of the coach style ones, so it should be easy for you to visualise the interior: two rows of standard double seats, a central aisle, and overhead luggage racks.
The bus was about half full, but the very front seat on the right side (the one that wasn't behind the driver) was empty, so I was going to sit there. One thing I've learnt about Maltese bus trips is always sit as close to the door as possible in case the bus fills up before you need to get off.
I swung round the bar that was in front of the seat, and....
...BANG
I heatbutted the end of the luggage rack. It ended just over this seat, and I went into it with full force, enough force in fact to actually knock me down (although I was knocked into the seat so it probably didn't look too odd). I didn't dare look round because I assume the whole bus was sniggering at me. No one bothered to check I was ok, but then again, I don't suppose I would have done anything if I'd seen another idiot do the same thing.
I got to work, but something didn't feel right. My head was starting to throb, and by the time I'd ridden up in the office lift I thought I was going to be sick. One of my colleagues could see the red patch above my left eye developing (I couldn't, we don't have a mirror) and the other co-worker that was just finishing his shift could also see I didn't look well. I eventually stuck it out for two hours, but had to go, I was truely scared I was going to faint.
It's three days later now. The red patch is still there, but the headache has finally subsided. I didn't throw up (thank goodness, because the light in my bathroom is broken, so there would be a good chance I'd miss the toilet bowl) but it did shake me for a while. That first night went by with no sleep at all, the throbbing head keeping me awake, so I'm still feeling groggy, but I can make up for that tonight.
So my advice to any visitors to Malta who plan on hopping on a bus...
...don't headbutt luggage racks.
I was heading to work for a 'late' shift last Sunday (late shift is 2pm until 10pm if you're interested). Everything was going to plan, at the bus stop for about 1:15 and a few minutes later a bus arrived. It was one of the coach style ones, so it should be easy for you to visualise the interior: two rows of standard double seats, a central aisle, and overhead luggage racks.
The bus was about half full, but the very front seat on the right side (the one that wasn't behind the driver) was empty, so I was going to sit there. One thing I've learnt about Maltese bus trips is always sit as close to the door as possible in case the bus fills up before you need to get off.
I swung round the bar that was in front of the seat, and....
...BANG
I heatbutted the end of the luggage rack. It ended just over this seat, and I went into it with full force, enough force in fact to actually knock me down (although I was knocked into the seat so it probably didn't look too odd). I didn't dare look round because I assume the whole bus was sniggering at me. No one bothered to check I was ok, but then again, I don't suppose I would have done anything if I'd seen another idiot do the same thing.
I got to work, but something didn't feel right. My head was starting to throb, and by the time I'd ridden up in the office lift I thought I was going to be sick. One of my colleagues could see the red patch above my left eye developing (I couldn't, we don't have a mirror) and the other co-worker that was just finishing his shift could also see I didn't look well. I eventually stuck it out for two hours, but had to go, I was truely scared I was going to faint.
It's three days later now. The red patch is still there, but the headache has finally subsided. I didn't throw up (thank goodness, because the light in my bathroom is broken, so there would be a good chance I'd miss the toilet bowl) but it did shake me for a while. That first night went by with no sleep at all, the throbbing head keeping me awake, so I'm still feeling groggy, but I can make up for that tonight.
So my advice to any visitors to Malta who plan on hopping on a bus...
...don't headbutt luggage racks.
February 19, 2010
"Frying Tonight!"
Oh my, am I in pain. I'm not supposed to be, it was scheduled to be a 'pleasent' day, average temperature, low wind, broken cloud. The perfect day to sit outside the pub, have a few drinks finishing reading a book before I head off to work...
...but therin lies the problem. It wasn't a 'pleasent' day. It pushed 90 degrees in old money and I didn't realise. The first I knew about it was about an hour after I arrived in work when the back of my neck began to feel a bit tender as it rubbed against the collar of my t-shirt. Then it was my left arm that developed heat prickles. By the time I left at 10pm, my face was also begging to be dipped in liquid Nitrogen just to relieve the throbbing agony.
When I got home (after a few beers with my boss) I rubbed cream over every crimson extremity I could find and went to bed. I woke up this morning loooking like a typical Brit on holiday. White lines where my shirt was, and even worse, where my glasses were. It still hurts every time I turn my head, even if it's just by a few degrees.
Today's temperature was back to normal. Still quite warm, but overcast and a brisk wind blowing through. It didn't stop the holiday makers breaking out the shorts and sandals though, and the tour buses seemed to be doing a good trade. I'd moved onto an Agatha Christie book today, although I kept getting distracted, so didn't get far into it...
...the warm weather also brings out the female flesh :D
...but therin lies the problem. It wasn't a 'pleasent' day. It pushed 90 degrees in old money and I didn't realise. The first I knew about it was about an hour after I arrived in work when the back of my neck began to feel a bit tender as it rubbed against the collar of my t-shirt. Then it was my left arm that developed heat prickles. By the time I left at 10pm, my face was also begging to be dipped in liquid Nitrogen just to relieve the throbbing agony.
When I got home (after a few beers with my boss) I rubbed cream over every crimson extremity I could find and went to bed. I woke up this morning loooking like a typical Brit on holiday. White lines where my shirt was, and even worse, where my glasses were. It still hurts every time I turn my head, even if it's just by a few degrees.
Today's temperature was back to normal. Still quite warm, but overcast and a brisk wind blowing through. It didn't stop the holiday makers breaking out the shorts and sandals though, and the tour buses seemed to be doing a good trade. I'd moved onto an Agatha Christie book today, although I kept getting distracted, so didn't get far into it...
...the warm weather also brings out the female flesh :D
February 17, 2010
Back to Reality
Oh wow, nearly a fortnight since my last entry. I do have a valid excuse though, I've hardly had computer access for that period of time, and when I have, it's not really been long enough to update my blog. Apologies though, I'll try to summerise what I've been up to.
In short, I've been back to the UK for 10 days. Firstly back to Manchester for a day out with my old friend Simon, then straight down to Bournemouth to see Jackie and my little star. Still as cute as ever, and now sporting a lovely ginger mullet. (Emily that is, not Jackie!) It was my first trip to the pier there too, the third I've visited in the past 12 months. Don't know whay I seem to be drawn to piers.
Back up to Manchester, then an early flight over to Shannon to see Tara and her family. It's been over 12 months since I've seen her, so a visit was long overdue. Her girls were so funny. They had been watching the quiz show regularly, trying to spot me, and I was treated to a 'happy penguin' dance when I first arrived. (Think you'll have to watch my 5 minutes of fame if you want a full explanation of that). I left them with a few card tricks to perfect, and I think that earned me a few brownie points. Remind me to learn a few more before I next go over.
When I returned from Shannon I had visitors from the Isle of Man waiting for me. Julie, Jonathan and their daughter Jasmine. There was also Julie's expanding belly too (she's expecting her second sometime in early June). I took Jonathan with Simon and my Dad to Belle Vue greyhound races on the Friday night, while Julie stayed in for a gossip. (no, I didn't make a profit, so don't even ask).
Next night, it was time for kareoke. My impression of The Big Bopper seemed to go down well, and to cap it all I won a tenner in the club draw...
...just a side note here. When I found out I had the winning ticket and I went up to try and 'open the box' I was introduced as 'The big guy from down South'. Probably because he still thought I lived in Southampton. That bit didn't bother me, but why 'Big Guy'? He knew my name was Geoff, but even if he temporarily forgot that, why highlight the fact I'm fat? Everyone in the room can see I am, so why announce it?
..anyway, back on track.
Sunday I said goodbye to the visitors and Dad found time to breakdown on the way back from Birkenhead, but other than that it was just time to relax. A few frames of snooker thrown in for good measure (which I won, 3-1 incidently) and then it was a red-eye flight back to Malta. Right now I'm sat in work, my first shift back after 1o days away from the office.
So there you have it, the explanation of my absence from these pages. Updates should be more frequent now, (hopefully) until my next trip away in late May. Before then I have another visit from my Mum and Dad and at some point I have to work out how to get up to the ceiling in my bathroom because the bulb seems to have gone while I was away. I can imagine that being a blog entry in itself.
Speak to you all soon.
P.S. Part 1. I used the blog title 'Back to Reality' because it's also the title of an episode of Red Dwarf, still my favourite sitcom of all time.
P.S. Part 2. While I was out in Manchester with Simon, we discovered a bar that was a converted
public toilets. Between two streets there were stairs going down under the road, and where the urinals and stalls would have been was now a bar with a jukebox and several tables. I wish this was a wind up, but I kid you not.
In short, I've been back to the UK for 10 days. Firstly back to Manchester for a day out with my old friend Simon, then straight down to Bournemouth to see Jackie and my little star. Still as cute as ever, and now sporting a lovely ginger mullet. (Emily that is, not Jackie!) It was my first trip to the pier there too, the third I've visited in the past 12 months. Don't know whay I seem to be drawn to piers.
Back up to Manchester, then an early flight over to Shannon to see Tara and her family. It's been over 12 months since I've seen her, so a visit was long overdue. Her girls were so funny. They had been watching the quiz show regularly, trying to spot me, and I was treated to a 'happy penguin' dance when I first arrived. (Think you'll have to watch my 5 minutes of fame if you want a full explanation of that). I left them with a few card tricks to perfect, and I think that earned me a few brownie points. Remind me to learn a few more before I next go over.
When I returned from Shannon I had visitors from the Isle of Man waiting for me. Julie, Jonathan and their daughter Jasmine. There was also Julie's expanding belly too (she's expecting her second sometime in early June). I took Jonathan with Simon and my Dad to Belle Vue greyhound races on the Friday night, while Julie stayed in for a gossip. (no, I didn't make a profit, so don't even ask).
Next night, it was time for kareoke. My impression of The Big Bopper seemed to go down well, and to cap it all I won a tenner in the club draw...
...just a side note here. When I found out I had the winning ticket and I went up to try and 'open the box' I was introduced as 'The big guy from down South'. Probably because he still thought I lived in Southampton. That bit didn't bother me, but why 'Big Guy'? He knew my name was Geoff, but even if he temporarily forgot that, why highlight the fact I'm fat? Everyone in the room can see I am, so why announce it?
..anyway, back on track.
Sunday I said goodbye to the visitors and Dad found time to breakdown on the way back from Birkenhead, but other than that it was just time to relax. A few frames of snooker thrown in for good measure (which I won, 3-1 incidently) and then it was a red-eye flight back to Malta. Right now I'm sat in work, my first shift back after 1o days away from the office.
So there you have it, the explanation of my absence from these pages. Updates should be more frequent now, (hopefully) until my next trip away in late May. Before then I have another visit from my Mum and Dad and at some point I have to work out how to get up to the ceiling in my bathroom because the bulb seems to have gone while I was away. I can imagine that being a blog entry in itself.
Speak to you all soon.
P.S. Part 1. I used the blog title 'Back to Reality' because it's also the title of an episode of Red Dwarf, still my favourite sitcom of all time.
P.S. Part 2. While I was out in Manchester with Simon, we discovered a bar that was a converted
public toilets. Between two streets there were stairs going down under the road, and where the urinals and stalls would have been was now a bar with a jukebox and several tables. I wish this was a wind up, but I kid you not.
February 04, 2010
Back to Square One (again)
Why now? Why am I this low again, only days before I have time off work and leave Malta to visit friends and family? I really don't get it.
Every little thing seems to either annoy me or get me down at the moment. I just can't shake it off. Even hiding in bed for 12 hours doesn't calm me - the fitted bed sheet keeps 'popping off' at one corner which pisses me off too.
Hopefully things will right themselves when I hit the UK. A day/night out with Simon in Manchester, then 24 hours with Jackie and Emily. Jackie never fails to lift me. If however, she does fail this time (which I very much doubt) then I have nearly two full days in Shannon with Tara, and her success rate at cheering me is just as high as Jackie's. Of course the main issue is that I don't know what it is I need cheering for. I have no idea why I'm so depressed. Perhaps I'm lonely, but I turned down an offer for drinks with a mate yesterday afternoon, so I don't think it's that. I don't think it's money - all outgoings for the month covered and I still have spending money for my trip.
I know I'm constantly fighting inner demons, and there is no immediate cure for that, but why now? It's the timing of it all that's perplexing me the most.
..oh well, I"m sure it'll pass.
Every little thing seems to either annoy me or get me down at the moment. I just can't shake it off. Even hiding in bed for 12 hours doesn't calm me - the fitted bed sheet keeps 'popping off' at one corner which pisses me off too.
Hopefully things will right themselves when I hit the UK. A day/night out with Simon in Manchester, then 24 hours with Jackie and Emily. Jackie never fails to lift me. If however, she does fail this time (which I very much doubt) then I have nearly two full days in Shannon with Tara, and her success rate at cheering me is just as high as Jackie's. Of course the main issue is that I don't know what it is I need cheering for. I have no idea why I'm so depressed. Perhaps I'm lonely, but I turned down an offer for drinks with a mate yesterday afternoon, so I don't think it's that. I don't think it's money - all outgoings for the month covered and I still have spending money for my trip.
I know I'm constantly fighting inner demons, and there is no immediate cure for that, but why now? It's the timing of it all that's perplexing me the most.
..oh well, I"m sure it'll pass.
February 03, 2010
Faites cuire à 200 degrés de Celsius pendant 20 mins
Another problem has emerged over the past few weeks (nothing to do with mini pillows this time, but in the same sort of time span.) It's largely due to the fact I've done my general food shopping at the 'other' supermarket.
Just for background, Sliema has two main supermarkets. The one nearest to my apartment is called 'Scotts' (which has cropped up in previous blogs on the odd occasion), and the other is called 'Tower'. Tower has the advantage of being bigger (3 floors) and not uphill from home, but the disadvantage of being further away. For the last two trips I've decided to make the effort to 'check-out' Scott's rival to see if it's more cost effective for me. (Check-out...geddit? Oh never mind!)
First visit and I had a small shopping list. Anything for the freezer that would make an emergency meal, margerine, breakfast cereal and a litre of milk. I was also planning on having a brief mooch around so I know exactly what they do and don't offer, and compare prices of items I already know the value of. Let's get that bit out of the way first. Tower is cheaper on a lot of items, especially fresh bread and at the butcher counter. Branded goods (Kellogg's Cornflakes, Bird's Eye Fish Fingers etc) seem about the same. Tower also has a much larger 'household section' (lightbulbs, kitchen gadgets etc.) Only thing that stood out as being a problem...cheap beer! (Just couldn't find any!)
So, I pick up my shopping items (the emergency freezer item was a three pack of Bolognese pizzas), and as I reach the till I pick up a large bag of crisps. They were only 60c and believe me, that is cheap over here. I've hardly eaten any since I got here, because of the silly prices some places charge for them. They were described as 'white crisps', so I had no idea what they were like, but for 60c it was worth experiementing. It was one of those 'sharing size' bags about 125g or something similar.
Ok, don't suppose you've worked out where this is leading yet have you?
Being on an island, a lot of goods are imported from other countries. Being in the centre of Europe also means that food comes in from many different sources. When I came to cook one of the pizzas I came across a major problem...
...the instructions were in French, and there were no English translations.
There were two pictures. One was a picture of the pizza, half out of it's box, an image of the oven with 200 written on it, and a clock showing 20 minutes. Instictively I thought that meant 'cook at 200 degrees for 20 minutes' (and the box bit means remove from all packaging.) But then there was a second picture. The pizza was now on a tray, and the clock said 13 minutes. No temperature guide this time, just the pizza and the clock. I ended up cooking it at 200 degrees on a tray for 15 minutes (seemed like a comprimise time). It tasted ok, and the centre was cooked right through, so I think I got away with it. I'll let you know if either of the other two fail.
But there's more. Remember those 'white crisps'? They tasted lovely, only lightly salted, and according to the label (this time in Spanish I think) they were very low in fat. On my second trip to Tower I decided to pick up a couple more bags to put in my emergency cupboard. There they were on the same rack, and the little ticket underneath still said 'white crisps: 60c'
When I got home, I tend to read through my receipt. I always like to see what looks like a bargain, and what feels like I've been ripped off. It was only a short list, but what struck me was their was nothing that cost 60c. There were also two items I didn't recognise, one for 43c and one for 49c. I unpacked my shopping, and there were the two bags of crisps....
....only now I noticed the picture looked different. The bag was the same colour as the first one I'd bought, all the writing was in the same place and the same font, but one of them had an image of popcorn on it, and the other, cheesy wotsit style crisps. I'd picked up two completely different snack bags. I blame the fact it was written in Spanish, and had clearly been stacked on the wrong shelf...
...Perhaps the shelf stacker couldn't read Spanish either!
Just for background, Sliema has two main supermarkets. The one nearest to my apartment is called 'Scotts' (which has cropped up in previous blogs on the odd occasion), and the other is called 'Tower'. Tower has the advantage of being bigger (3 floors) and not uphill from home, but the disadvantage of being further away. For the last two trips I've decided to make the effort to 'check-out' Scott's rival to see if it's more cost effective for me. (Check-out...geddit? Oh never mind!)
First visit and I had a small shopping list. Anything for the freezer that would make an emergency meal, margerine, breakfast cereal and a litre of milk. I was also planning on having a brief mooch around so I know exactly what they do and don't offer, and compare prices of items I already know the value of. Let's get that bit out of the way first. Tower is cheaper on a lot of items, especially fresh bread and at the butcher counter. Branded goods (Kellogg's Cornflakes, Bird's Eye Fish Fingers etc) seem about the same. Tower also has a much larger 'household section' (lightbulbs, kitchen gadgets etc.) Only thing that stood out as being a problem...cheap beer! (Just couldn't find any!)
So, I pick up my shopping items (the emergency freezer item was a three pack of Bolognese pizzas), and as I reach the till I pick up a large bag of crisps. They were only 60c and believe me, that is cheap over here. I've hardly eaten any since I got here, because of the silly prices some places charge for them. They were described as 'white crisps', so I had no idea what they were like, but for 60c it was worth experiementing. It was one of those 'sharing size' bags about 125g or something similar.
Ok, don't suppose you've worked out where this is leading yet have you?
Being on an island, a lot of goods are imported from other countries. Being in the centre of Europe also means that food comes in from many different sources. When I came to cook one of the pizzas I came across a major problem...
...the instructions were in French, and there were no English translations.
There were two pictures. One was a picture of the pizza, half out of it's box, an image of the oven with 200 written on it, and a clock showing 20 minutes. Instictively I thought that meant 'cook at 200 degrees for 20 minutes' (and the box bit means remove from all packaging.) But then there was a second picture. The pizza was now on a tray, and the clock said 13 minutes. No temperature guide this time, just the pizza and the clock. I ended up cooking it at 200 degrees on a tray for 15 minutes (seemed like a comprimise time). It tasted ok, and the centre was cooked right through, so I think I got away with it. I'll let you know if either of the other two fail.
But there's more. Remember those 'white crisps'? They tasted lovely, only lightly salted, and according to the label (this time in Spanish I think) they were very low in fat. On my second trip to Tower I decided to pick up a couple more bags to put in my emergency cupboard. There they were on the same rack, and the little ticket underneath still said 'white crisps: 60c'
When I got home, I tend to read through my receipt. I always like to see what looks like a bargain, and what feels like I've been ripped off. It was only a short list, but what struck me was their was nothing that cost 60c. There were also two items I didn't recognise, one for 43c and one for 49c. I unpacked my shopping, and there were the two bags of crisps....
....only now I noticed the picture looked different. The bag was the same colour as the first one I'd bought, all the writing was in the same place and the same font, but one of them had an image of popcorn on it, and the other, cheesy wotsit style crisps. I'd picked up two completely different snack bags. I blame the fact it was written in Spanish, and had clearly been stacked on the wrong shelf...
...Perhaps the shelf stacker couldn't read Spanish either!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
