Before I commence I would like to bitch and moan. I have been blogging for something like 3 1/2 years. WordPress is easy and straightforward. You write some blurb. Then you open the file of photos you have to hand and just drag them into the media loader.
When I got a Mac last year it got even easier. It let you drag a photo straight into the text. Couldn’t be easier. Then last month Apple buggered about with the photo app and now I can’t drag anything into anything. I feel like throwing the whole lot in the bin. But I am sucked in. I’m paying WordPress $99 a year for some reason. I’m paying Apple £3 a month for iCloud and I don’t even know what the hell for. I just paid Microsoft £108 to use Word on a Mac which I don’t need but feel compelled to have ‘just in case’.
So I can’t really throw anything in the bin. And if anyone can throw me a bone here, so to speak, explain how to make everything work nice and easy like it used to (in the good old days) then please do let me know…
Anywhoooooo. Meatloaf. Never made one but they look so damned tasty I had to give it a go…
It’s been a while since I did ribs. I went to my trusty farm shop to get some, got home, decided they weren’t big enough, and popped to Tesco and got some much more substantial ones.
Talking of substantial, check out this guy. He is an ‘extreme eater’, and consumes extreme amounts of food. For some reason. He took on the Breaking BadAss Challenge at Longhorns Barbeque Smokehouse in Newcastle and ate a rack of beef ribs, a rack of pork ribs, various other meaty items, some coleslaw and so on. Inexplicably though he couldn’t eat a pot of baked beans and thus, having failed the challenge, had to fork out £35 for the meal.
A failed extreme eater. It’s a lonely job, and no one has to do it. Back to my ribs.
…of 2014! And what better way of signing off than with a bacon sandwich and a glass of Bucks Fizz, heavy on the orange juice. After all it’s only 1pm. I’ve got to last until midnight so I can get annoyed with people letting off fireworks.
Many, many years ago, when I was a lad, I had an ear-ache. Nasty one too. My father, in a moment of altruistic generosity, arrived home that evening from work with a comic. It was called ‘Asterix the Legionary’.
It was a story about a little Gaulish warrior and his best buddy Obelix. They roamed ancient France, bashing Romans and eating wild boar. A lot of wild boar. Obelix liked to finish off three or four in one sitting, and they were always (well nearly always) eaten roasted.
Obelix could eat as many wild boar you could throw at him…
Later, as I got older, I realised it wasn’t a moment of altruistic generosity that led my father to purchase the comic. He liked it too. In fact whenever he got me one for Christmas or a birthday, he’d read it first. The cheek.
But I always wondered what wild boar was like. I mean from what I have read and heard, wild boar is like pork.
So when I took a trip to my new best-place-to-buy-food (the Farm Shop down the road) I spotted some wild boar, vacuum-packed. I knew I had to try it.
Previously on Happiness Stan…
I went to the butchers and they were slightly annoying.
So a month or so ago we set off shopping, but decided to explore the more rural parts, south of where we live, looking for somewhere different to acquire some bacon and eggs.
We ended up in deepest darkest Surrey (about 5 miles from home).
Here the locals speak in strange dialects, and wild pigs forage for truffles (this may or may not be true, the shop staff we spoke to didn’t have strange dialects, although that might have been because they weren’t local – they could have been bused in from Northern France – and I didn’t spot any pigs, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there, hiding their truffles).
Deepest, darkest Surrey…