It’s Christmas day again, that time of year when I get to sit down in front of a TV and bore myself stupid, wishing that TV showed anything worthwhile. Mind you, having just come back from Kuwait I have been on a cultural bender for the last 3 days and spent far too much money on theatre, ballet and cinema already so the day off is probably a good thing.
Since landing in Heathrow on the morning of the 22nd, it’s been non-stop. That night I went straight out to see Tarik down the casino to catch up. So much has happened in the space of 4 months, and as usual, the events in our lives have run parallel. He’s now working for HMV, having finally worked out that working in an office is not really the thing for him. He packed that in at the beginning of the month and is now working in the HMV in the basement of Selfridges, a store I never knew existed before yesterday, so well is it hidden away.
I went out and resumed life as a Londoner the next day, doing what I always do when I’m here, but this time with the financial clout that it doesn’t hurt like it used to.
I went to see the ballet, Nutcracker at the Royal Festival Hall and bought a ticket to see Festen on the 28th at the Lyric on Shaftesbury Avenue, based on the Danish film and getting storming reviews. Before the ballet I went to see a brilliant film by Film Four and Warp films called “Dead Mans Shoes” about a guy who goes back to the town he grew up in to get revenge. An excellent twist on the end of a gory tale and some excellent down to earth acting in the style that we have come to expect from the film four crew.
We chatted, me and Tarik, into the early morning, sat on our sofas at the Gala casino on Tottenham Court Road, before going back to our noodle joint in Soho for some of the very worst noodles money can buy at that time of the morning. They made him feel sick.
What about gambling? We had £30 and no time to gamble, having whiled away the hours on the sofa with more important things to catch up on. So on the way out I suggested we just stick the cash down straight on red and we did. And it landed on 21, which is red so we left with £60. Not bad huh.
Feelin lucky the next day I decided to capitalise on that win and bought 2 lottery scratchcards on the way home. Completely forgetting about them in my back pocket I discovered them that night while poking around in my wallet, scratched them off and lo and behold another 7 quid! As soon as I finish typing I’m gonna go and buy a lottery ticket from the shops…
I was watching the ads earlier and an ad for Kentucky Fried Chicken came on. I only caught the end of it but it. The slogan said “Kentucky Fried Chicken – serving up soul”
That’s a bit harsh I thought. I’m personally a big fan of the legs, I can stomach the breast and I like hot wings, but surely a chicken has enough bits on it that you don’t have to go in and sell its soul. Hasn’t the poor bird suffered enough, what with being kept in a cramped cage with hundreds of other chickens all its life, being made to wallow in it’s own faeces before being hung, slaughtered and bled dry, chopped up and covered in batter. Now they go and deprive the poor bastard of any chance of salvation too!
I was wondering exactly how they do this then. Next time I walk in are they going to give me three options when I ask for bits of chicken? Would you like the legs, breast or soul sir? French fries?
And how the bloody hell do they manage to capture it and wrap it in batter?! The mind boggles.
We’ll be having goose today for Christmas. We’ve got this huge thing in the downstairs oven, complete with giblets from Sainsburys, but it looks like they haven’t given me the soul. Bastards!
Merry Christmas!
