tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85483616237373120622024-02-02T06:19:31.338+00:00Manchester ReviewsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-65295971441549913302015-02-26T13:54:00.000+00:002015-02-26T13:54:19.975+00:00Derwentwater<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
It's a glorious quality - when a place can conjure joy in one's soul no
matter what the weather. Your home can do this; your wife's bed, her legs
spread, her eyes wandering slowly and encouragingly over your body till she
looks at your penis and says, "inside me now god dammit, what's holding
that rod back?"<br />
And Derwentwater can manage this; a beautiful mid-sized Victorian lake, built
by the Edwardians in 1675, complete with 5 Islands and, thus, able to
accommodate your whole family + guests on your long weekend break. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And the whole lake is effectively a game's room. There are boats; rowing
boats; motor boats; wind boats; wind surfing boats (although these are a
menace); kayaking boats; canoeing boats; and ferries for those people who want
to experience the lake with as many people as possible.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And surrounding the lake is land; and on that land, to the south of the
lake, is the glorious town of Keswick; populated, largely, by bed and
breakfasts from the 1930s but, also, by some hotels and more modern bed and
breakfast establishments (particularly those that serve fishcakes rather than
the usual humdrum bacon, egg, potato waffles and sausage).<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
There are pubs galore in this fabled town - pubs that develop in one's mind
images of the countryside - The Dog and Huntsman; The Manure and Footprint; The
Pig and Fucker - and they all serve food that wouldn't look out of place in
your mother's kitchen; plates filled with frozen peas, frozen carrots, Asda's
own frozen cauliflower cheese (with real cheese), frozen pies, and oven chips
(all cooked of course, straight from the freezer)<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Keswick also has many shops offering Georgian clothes at the half the price
of Asda's own Georgian range. I went into a shop that was selling see-through
knickers; and so you see, there is titillation to be had too.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Derwentwater has it all. Water!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But travel far from Derwentwater and one may end up stranded in Cockermouth,
home of the blowjob brothel, Dick-in-Gob, home of a village idiot named
Dick-in-Gob, and home of a local cuisine that is basically a sausage stuck in
badly mashed, mash potato, known locally as, Cockermouth Smashed Baked Potato.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Wander into the mountains (which have all been climbed by Englishmen) and
you could end up in the Honister pass, known for its Slate...<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Oh, I must jump back to Keswick, for a line or two, and mention the pencil
museum.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
...mine which has some appalling reviews on Tripadvisor; but all mines have
appalling reviews on Tripadvisor, presumably because people expect more than a
damp cave.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I realise this is no longer about Derwentwater - but what can one write
about a lake? I mean, it's just a fucking pond. Occasionally, one will see a
jet of the RAF fly over and your girlfriend will yelp and you can comfort her
by gently massaging her vul...<o:p></o:p><br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-60585642284259544942015-02-06T09:54:00.000+00:002015-02-06T09:54:01.031+00:00Taking Appearance Minutes and Quality of Performance into Account When Calculating Footballers Salaries.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do footballers deserve their huge salaries even when they are not appearing on the pitch?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's look at some randomly selected Man Utd players and see how much they have earned for every minute of football they have played so far this season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooney - £4319</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van Persie - £3482</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Herrera - £2936</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young - £2667</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafael - £2453</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fellaini - £2227</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mata - £2122</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Januzaj - £2057</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evans - £2023</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smalling - £1780</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carrick - £1747</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shaw - £1560</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Valencia - £1228</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jones - £1112</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Gea - £870</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow! For every minute Wayne Rooney is doing his job he gets paid £4,319!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But ignoring that, look at three of United's bottom 5 earners - Carrick, Valencia and De Gea. United's best players are the lowest earners simply because they've played more minutes. Look at Rafael, he's done nothing this season but he's up there in the top 5.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some could argue United have been worth their money this season; but what about fans of Aston Villa, for example? One of the most appalling teams ever to disgrace the Premier League, here are some randomly selected Aston Villa players.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 341px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt; width: 107pt;" width="143"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guzan</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 143pt;" width="191"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">348</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nathan Baker</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">420</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ron vlaar</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">647</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jores Okore</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">471</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ciaran Clark</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">303</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leandro Bacuna</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2022</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tom Cleverley</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">436</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ashley Westwood</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">265</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fabian Delph</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">664</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Andrea Weimann</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">410</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gabriel Agbonlahor</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">698</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Darren Bent</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">20000</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cristian Benteke</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">618</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></tr>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></tbody></colgroup></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Holy shit - Darren Bent has earned £20,000 for every minute of football he has played this season. Bacuna has earned more than Carrick, more than Shaw, more than Valencia, more than Jones, and more than twice that of De Gea, and he's been SHIT!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other players are earning a lot less than United's in general, as one would expect, but are they worth the amount they get paid? Should Benteke get £618 per minute even though his performances have been low in quality?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I propose footballers should get a basic salary and then bonuses based on appearance and quality of appearance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that basic salary should be £25,000 a year - enough on which to live. But if you ain't playing and you ain't playing in a manner that deserves recompense, then you ain't getting any more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Appearance bonuses can be linked to what a player might demand for a weekly wage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Assuming that a footballer could play up to 50 games a season, players would earn the following per minute:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooney - 3467</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van Persie - 2889</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Herrera - 924</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young - 1364</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafael - 693</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fellaini - 924</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mata - 1502</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Januzaj - 520</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evans - 751</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smalling - 693</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carrick - 924</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shaw - 578</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Valencia - 809</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jones - 578</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Gea - 867</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ignoring player performance, here's what the United players have earned so far, this year, on the new appearance bonus system.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Basic Salary + </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooney - 5778922</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van Persie - 4977556</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mata - 2208267</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Gea - 1794000</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young - 1448096</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Valencia - 1106560</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carrick - 1015964</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fellaini - 796871</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jones - 623422</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Herrera - 604587</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evans - 579107</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smalling - 560907</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shaw - 444311</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafael - 406987</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">januzaj - 273000</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of these salaries are still huge but you can immediately see that those players who have played more games have jumped closer to the top whilst players like Rafael have plummeted to the bottom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what about taking into account quality of performance too?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Based on performance (using performance statistics) here's what United's players should have earned so far this year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooney - 7763034</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van Persie - 6786067</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mata - 2186184</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Gea - 1584700</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Valencia - 947953</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young - 873685</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carrick - 650217</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fellaini - 594997</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jones - 324180</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Herrera - 300278</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evans - 229712</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smalling - 205666</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafael - 120739</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Januzaj - 34580</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can see - the best players are still earning the big bucks, but those who are not playing or under-performing are taking a decent hit in their wages - they're still big earners but it's less grotesque than it used to be when they were getting paid for either not doing their jobs or not doing their jobs well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what about Aston Villa. After a miserable season, what do their players deserve from their performances?</span><br />
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt; width: 96pt;" width="128"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guzan</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 48pt;" width="64"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">468832</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nathan Baker</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ron vlaar</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">68735</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jores Okore</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">73791</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ciaran Clark</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">96864</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leandro Bacuna</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2571</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tom Cleverley</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">305252</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ashley Westwood</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">140344</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fabian Delph</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">159083</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Andrea Weimann</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">323060</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gabriel Agbonlahor</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">618735</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Darren Bent</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">0</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cristian Benteke</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl63" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">141353</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></tbody></colgroup></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look at that! Bent has nought but a basic salary. Bacuna has earned £2,571 in total whereas before he was earning almost that a minute. Under the new system, he has earned 1% of what he would have earned on his current salary. Unfortunate for him, but that's what you get when you're a bit shit and don't deserve your vast fortune.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some players have done quite well out of the new pay system but not many. Here is a list of percentages of pay under the new system compared to current salary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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</span><colgroup><col style="mso-width-alt: 4681; mso-width-source: userset; width: 96pt;" width="128"></col><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><col style="mso-width-alt: 73; mso-width-source: userset; width: 2pt;" width="2"></col><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt; width: 96pt;" width="128"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rooney</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 2pt;" width="2"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 48pt;" width="64"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 48pt;" width="64"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">108</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Van persie</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">113</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Herrera</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">016</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">031</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rafael</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">008</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fellaini</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">031</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mata</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">070</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Januzaj</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">003</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evans</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">015</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Smalling</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">014</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carrick</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">034</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shaw</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">014</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Valencia</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">056</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jones</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">027</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">De Gea</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">088</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can see, Rooney and Van Persie have earned more than they would have done. De Gea and Mata are doing pretty well too. But all the other players have lost money, whether due to lack of appearances or lack of quality in performance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And Aston Villa? Oh dear - Only Guzan emerges with any credit.</span><br />
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<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 258px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><colgroup><col style="mso-width-alt: 4681; mso-width-source: userset; width: 96pt;" width="128"></col><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt; width: 96pt;" width="128"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Guzan</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 2pt;" width="2"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 48pt;" width="64"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; width: 48pt;" width="64"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">065</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">nathan Baker</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">004</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ron vlaar</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">011</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jores Okore</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">015</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ciaran Clark</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">027</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leandro Bacuna</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">001</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tom Cleverley</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">042</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ashley Westwood</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">039</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fabian Delph</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">022</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Andrea Weimann</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">054</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gabriel Agbonlahor</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">052</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<tr height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Darren Bent</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">000</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td height="20" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black; height: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cristian Benteke</span></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><td style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"></td><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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</span><td align="right" class="xl66" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">020</span></td>
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</tbody></colgroup></table>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-56173829332096674852014-07-21T11:46:00.003+01:002014-07-22T10:13:34.204+01:00House Restaurant, Altrincham.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Walking into The House Restaurant is like walking into a circus where all the actors have been trained by the Marx Brothers and have been forced to work with butter on their fingers; for not a moment goes by when one does not hear the smashing of glass, the breaking of cups, the destruction of plates, the spilling of wine. Or, at least, that's what it felt like as I munched my way, nay, ground my way through my fillet steak with pepper sauce and "garlic" chips. Note, dear reader, the inverted commas around the word garlic; for the chips went as close to garlic as a catholic priest goes to legitimate sex; and they were stodgy! Not to worry, as the drinks arrive the entertainment is ratcheted up to 100 as they are spilled all over my friend's lap who annouces that her knickers are wet. The boss, at this point, thinks it a good idea to advise that my friend "nips over t' salon across the way and ask to use the hairdryers." Of course! <br />
Another friend of mine orders gnocchi (so we must not have too much sympathy for her) but she gets penne instead. "I ordered gnocchi," she explains; "We've run out of gnocchi; we haven't served it for weeks," responds the waitress as she accidentally throws a melon through the window. All apart the melon incident - true.<br />
It's time for dessert and we're looking at the board and we all think it would be nice to have this and that and then the waitress explains that the desserts board is inaccurate and that the desserts that are actually on offer are in the desserts cabinet. "Ok," we respond. And then the waitress smiles at us, inanely, like her brain has suddenly popped off to the fabulous beaches of Torremolinos and left her body to take the flak. We wait but she keeps smiling. Feeling sorry for her I ask if there is Eton Mess; there is so we all order that to reduce her burden. The Eton Mess portions are huge; no wonder the chef took an hour to whip the cream. But it's tasty and we all manage to finish but not without the mandatory feeling of disgust and shame that one usually feels after eating a dessert so big it could solve the world's food crises for a day at least. <br />
Not to worry, we left with our bellies full and our bodies intact and we were well entertained. I just wish it had all been a little less shambolic. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-11316136756912397412011-10-22T11:02:00.001+01:002011-10-22T11:02:41.147+01:00Think of Something GoodRight then Muckers! It's been a while. College work consumes most; university work consumes the rest; leaving this little blog, this poor miserable little fucker, to fester in the background. And so much has happened. Of most significance, a terrible meal at The Lead Station. And I know their breakfast is to die for; so say all of you; but their venison pie is filled with diarrhoea from an old sheep's arse. Who the fuck wants that? Who wants something runny and stinky inside a pie? And it's not venison anyway. It's Liver, all leathery and flavourless like an old woman's tits. Did I really put that? Can I leave that in? Yes! Consider it from my point of view. I've neglected this blog; I'm willing to write any old shit. Now I've lost my train of thought. So, the Pie; it's filled with shit. What about the pastry? A substance that should snap and crackle; a substance that should be golden and flavoursome like a young woman's... The Lead Station Pastry looks like a pancake; tastes like an undercooked omelette; and feels, in the mouth, all squidgy and spongy, like an old man's... Like an old man's what? I bet you're all thinking cock. And you'd be right. Like an old man's cock.<br />
So, you're sucking an old man's cock whilst a sheep shits diarrhoea all over your face. That's a Lead Station pie; and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to lose readers.<br />
How to win you back? How can I walk the streets without shame? I feel a Dickensian swoon arising. Think of something good...<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-78937077487664962192011-08-25T12:41:00.001+01:002011-08-25T12:42:36.889+01:00You'll Wish The Curry Mile Stretched All the Way to Brighton<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://is00.thegumtree.com/image/big/71134944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" id="il_fi" src="http://is00.thegumtree.com/image/big/71134944.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>It's been a while since I blogged about Manchester. Too long! My apologies, for I have been on my holidays and, thus, have neglected my duties as a promoter of Mancunian food. Not to worry, for as soon as I finish this ditty about Brighton, I shall return to my home town, continuing my ventures in all things culinary.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Brighton is a god awful place for somebody who drives a car. As everybody drives a car, one can jump quite easily to the conclusion that Brighton is a god awful place. But stop! That's a bit unfair. Many good and wonderful people tell me Brighton is their favourite place in the world. The world! Better than Paris? Better than Berlin? Better than Chorlton? Indeed. With its beach, its cute alleyways, its endless supply of jewelry shops, its kooky vegetarian shoe shops, its sex shops (where one can buy the most graphic lampshades), its comedy clubs and night clubs, what more could you desire? A good restaurant? That would be my response; and fortunately, Brighton can deliver.</div><a name='more'></a>Not surprisingly, Brighton's two best restaurants serve Indian food. One, Indian Summer, is run by authentic Indian people; "the chef adores cricket," claims the menu. Can't argue with that; authentic Indian for sure. The other, The Chilli Pickle, is run by posh student totty. Yet it's the Chilli Pickle that wins all the plaudits, including mine. The food is fantastic; it had me in tears. Strange flavours, pushed deep into the background of Indian cuisine for so long, suddenly thrust themselves into the limelight. Cardamom and fennel take centre stage; they caress the taste buds; they tickle the fancy. Nothing along the Curry Mile is as good as this. Nothing! What a depressing thought. I don't blame the restaurants of course; I blame the customers; so intensely afraid to remove themselves from the murky underworld of a chicken tikka masala or a bhuna. Why not try something new? Both Indian Summer and The Chilli Pickle would never serve such crap.<br />
From this day forth, whenever I find myself driving through Rusholme i'll be wishing the Curry Mile stretched all the way to Brighton. You are more than welcome to join me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-14445553608237396402011-07-07T14:05:00.002+01:002011-09-20T12:18:44.273+01:00An Overblown Reaction to Beech Road Festival<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="http://www.manchestercraftmafia.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/beechRd1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" id="il_fi" src="http://www.manchestercraftmafia.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/beechRd1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></a></div>
Give me kooky shops; give me litter; give me booze; give me men peeing up alleyways; give me men spitting up walls; give me women, giggling and fawning over home made wares and tares; give me crap music; give me a tent marketing the Manchester College; give me the tragic Beech Road festival; a festival hell bent on making money, in, of all places, Communist Chorlton.<br />
It was a day when men fought over turf; it was a day when women wept over blood, spilt for the sake of an extra pint of beer; it was a day when the people of Chorlton, free from the shackles of their fucked up ideology, returned to the wild, hacking and crapping in the woods. And they didn't even bother to use toilet paper.<br />
To say I enjoyed the Beech Road Festival would be an overstatement of gargantuan proportions. It would be comparable to a statement declaring Neil Ruddock the greatest footballer of all time. I lasted ten minutes in its chilly atmosphere, watching fair folk go mad for cupcakes, shitty dresses, twee furniture, ice cream, more ice cream, and booze. Ten minutes is all I could handle and I saw enough debauchery to make a nun weep for forty years.<br />
Apparently there will be changes next year. No longer can the council tolerate such foul behaviour. I, for one, would be glad to see the back of it forever.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-10113974376322874252011-06-21T15:36:00.000+01:002011-06-21T15:36:58.526+01:00Bertie's Shed<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.stephenson-bell.com/images/portfolio/alberts-shed/alberts-shed-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" id="il_fi" src="http://www.stephenson-bell.com/images/portfolio/alberts-shed/alberts-shed-1.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">When I told my Dad I'd be taking him to Albert's Shed for his Father's day treat, he responded with a long drawn out breath, followed by a loud guffaw, followed by something that sounded like a snort, followed by a sentence that roughly went as follows, "Who the fuck eats in a shed?" Except, of course, there was no expletive. That, dear readers, is my own, small embellishment. Incidentally, never trust a writer who directly addresses his readers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So Bertie's Shed is a lot more than a shed. It's part of the Duke's 92 establishment and will, as chance happenstances, provide the food for my forthcoming wedding. Impress it must, then, for I will not eat shit at such an important event; not in front of the world's press anyway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Did it impress? Did it manage to tickle my taste buds into a frightful frenzy? Nope.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Leave it at that dear boy; leave it at that and never come back. Incidentally, a writer who starts referring to himself as, "dear boy," has certainly taken a healthy dose of insanity pills. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have to say, I really do, when one is presented with a menu that looks like it was lifted from a Weatherspoon's pub, one gets really suspicious. Then, when one realises the restaurant kitchen also serves the pub, one's suspicions are confirmed. When one notices all this, one realises, before any meals have been served, the food is going to be nothing more than posh pub grub. And that's exactly what it is; and it's unseasoned too. Note, that isn't under-seasoned; that is UNseasoned. My Venison, covered in port and Stilton (PORT AND STILTON!) didn't taste of a bloody thing. How can a restaurant manage that? The quantity of cheese in my Father's cheese pie was so great, he's been driven to the ugly world of veganism. He has become a Vegon, spending most of his time defending the Neutral Zone.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">On another hand, my dessert was delicious. A chocolate volcano, erupting and pluming so much, flights in the vicinity were diverted to their alternate airports. The chocolate was everywhere but, my god, yummy, yum, yum, as my nephew says. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, it's not all bad. But what choices to make for my wedding? Can we have three dessert courses each? With Champagne? I don't see why not. Or will Albert have to try harder? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Albert."</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yes?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Try harder."</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-7532558759585803232011-06-14T13:25:00.005+01:002011-06-15T16:43:06.442+01:00Could You Pass the Tea?<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6QNF_4TYb9_3ZAN0j62aTDxBfqYqWnzri0Tqx-gQiV93s_25ZKB0QC9TSQf26RGtWDtODdFIpv02xi-0XUOH3H3jlTtBe7AQzVMCHLeK6nLQRDr38EwK7-iMlMCHrZjhugLKIogSJ4c/s1600/tea_cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" id="il_fi" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6QNF_4TYb9_3ZAN0j62aTDxBfqYqWnzri0Tqx-gQiV93s_25ZKB0QC9TSQf26RGtWDtODdFIpv02xi-0XUOH3H3jlTtBe7AQzVMCHLeK6nLQRDr38EwK7-iMlMCHrZjhugLKIogSJ4c/s200/tea_cup.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>With great joy and with glee radiating through my heart and throughout my body, I recount my latest tale of adventure: My visit to Mr Scruff's Teacup in Manchester's Northern Quarter. I have been a fan of Mr Scruff for a long time. As I write, I question whether that is true. I have a couple of his records but they're nothing brilliant. His club night has gone down hill too. I'm getting older; his clientele are getting younger; many annoying people dancing to many annoying songs; the grumpy old man in me is revealed.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Joy, then, to know I can support his vast estate (they say he owns half of Lancashire) by purchasing one of his afternoon teas at Teacup. They cost £13 (blink twice but do not imagine for a moment I have mistakenly introduced the incorrect figure) and consist of a cup of tea, a sandwich and a hundred cakes. A hundred cakes is pure hyperbole but, still, Teacup is a one way ticket to diabetes; only the fortified pancreas survives.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Put simply, there is far too much cake and not enough tea. Extra water is provided but not extra leaf. A more apt name, then, would be Cake Stand or Vomit or Sugar Rush.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Brush this downbeat tone aside, though, for the cakes are delicious. The chocolate cake, par exemple, is a velvety dream: rich in cocoa; dark like a moonless night; as dirty as a bitch on heat. You'll beg for more. The sandwiches are less exciting but are enough to fill a demanding man's senses with pleasurable tones.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That leaves us with the tea. What better drink to make one's day? A cup of tea is like sunshine in the morning; is like waking next to a beautiful woman; is like a hot bath after a long day's work; is like everything that makes you feel good about yourself; it's the greatest discovery of all time. Any place that treasures this magical substance should be praised from the highest peaks. Thus stand, Teacup, and take a bow; may you live forever.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-7997470249777480472011-06-13T12:05:00.001+01:002011-06-15T16:42:54.107+01:00Akbars: The Ghee Monster Stampedes Through the Kitchen and Dumps its Load into Every MealShort follow up to Friday's post:<br />
<br />
I was born into a world of ghee. Ghee! If somebody told the chefs at Akbars they were not allowed to use ghee, they'd probably kill themselves. Jesus Christ! There's a lot of ghee in an Akbars' meal; my balti was swimming in it; if a small child were to fall in, t'would never be seen again. I placed my knife in, to ascertain some kind of depth, and it completely disappeared, consumed by the grease, destined to roam the murky underworld for eternity, seeking the princess who could set him free (where have I gone with this?) The Naan bread was a victim too; covered, head to toe, in ghee; dripping in it. <br />
All this ghee makes a young boy sick. I spent the night, head over toilet; I spent the next day degreasing toilet. Nothing to do with the whiskey of course. Oh no sir! All to do with ghee; the vast quantities of ghee; the disgusting, repulsive ghee.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-7091418478621041612011-06-10T11:47:00.001+01:002011-06-15T16:43:25.728+01:00But it's Really Cheap and the Food is Alright<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://touchvipcard.com/offers/logo/152-bakbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" id="il_fi" src="http://touchvipcard.com/offers/logo/152-bakbar.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></div>Time and again I go to Akbar's and walk away pissed off. Thus, it is with some trepidation that I return this evening, unable to convince my other half (I refrain, on this occasion, from calling her my better half) it would be better to go someplace else where they don't treat you like cattle at feeding hour.<br />
"But it's really cheap and the food is alright," she insists.<br />
"But they treat you like shit!"<br />
"But it's really cheap and the food is alright," she repeats.<br />
"But they only care about your money; quick in; quick out; food dumped on table!"<br />
"But it's really cheap and the food is alright."<br />
Heads banging against brick walls.<br />
The trouble is, as I write this, I know I will have to go. I know I will have to hold one of those ridiculous beeper things in my pocket before it finally vibrates and I walk, like an idiot, up the ramp to my table. And then I suffer, like a pleb, the discourteous waiters. And then I agree, like a dick wad (80s revival moment), to purchase naan bread that could feed 5,000.<br />
And it's so loud; and it's so dark; and it's full of people having birthday parties; and every one of them thinks it necessary to sing that dreadful Hill sister's song.<br />
And all the time, whilst I experience these thoughts of hatred, I hear the sensible voice of my better half explaining, "but it's really cheap and the food is alright."<br />
On Monday I shall write about my experience. You'll be able to read about it. Rest assured, I will be taking very detailed notes. Be warned Akbar's! I'm coming. You better be on your best behaviour.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-12390983890318751412011-06-08T14:22:00.002+01:002011-06-15T16:44:33.158+01:00Ooh, I've just remembered its name: Saahil <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2604/3923835056_6b2f762148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" id="il_fi" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2604/3923835056_6b2f762148.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><strong>Banana Slop</strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">At the weekend, I made the grand error of travelling to Southport to eat my tea. Southport is a bit of a stinker. It reminds me of Trafford Park; it lacks grace and elegance; it's full of coffin dodgers; and it lacks a decent restaurant. It does have an extraordinarily long pier but who cares? I suppose if it were shorter, Southport would have a higher suicide rate.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The restaurant I visited was Indian. I wish I could remember its name for it would make this post more useful. Needless to say, and I run a very grave risk of repeating myself here, it's in Southport so it's not very good. It doesn't matter what it's called. There was nothing remarkable about the menu. There was only the familiar: Jalfrezi; bhuna; madras; vindaloo. Who wants those? In Manchester, a bog standard curry can be obtained every three yards. What I need is a specials' menu. Something different to keep me interested. The southport Indian had just one special. One! And it was made from bananas! And it was mild! A curry for a ninety year old. Bloody hell Southport.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I ended up with a Jalfrezi; my girlfriend a bhuna. They were identical. More and more Indian restaurants are doing this. You think they'd realise that when two people are sat next to each other and they have the following conversation:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Hey, would you like to try my curry?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Ooh! Yes please."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">those two people would notice the similarities between the two dishes. No? So, in reality, the Southport Indian had two items on its menu: A curry and some banana slop.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Ooh, I've just remembered its name: Saahil</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-71123717466234757652011-06-08T09:49:00.003+01:002011-06-15T16:44:11.263+01:00Altrincham (or would it be too much trouble if we could go to a remote Scottish island instead?)<div style="text-align: justify;">Not a sound to be heard; not a soul to be seen; there's only one place; Altrincham</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No decent meal to be had; no hearty drink to be found; there's only one place: Altrincham</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not a joke to be told; no tale to be wove; there's only one place: Altrincham</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Altrincham: The dullest place on <a class="zem_slink" data-mce-href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth" rel="wikipedia" title="Earth">Earth</a>. As a sage once said to me, "there is more life on a remote Scottish island than there is life in Altrincham." It's a place where cockroaches are so bored it actually kills them. Not even a nuclear missile can achieve that. Yet, it comes to my attention, like perpetual bad tides, like clouds of locusts, like plagues of rats, that people, if we must call them anything, love Altrincham. There is no manner in which one can begin to calculate the workings of their stupidity. </div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">About ten years ago I found myself in Altrincham on a winter's evening. It was a clear night but there was no moon and the street on which I had found myself was badly lit, as if we'd returned to distant times and the gas man had forgotten his duties. To my horror (and I can account for the exaggeration of my emotions) I heard, slightly at first but then with growing menace, the sound of feet, walking with a steady yet determined pace upon the cobbles behind me. When I turned to look, I could see no one. Shivers traversed my body; goose pimples, as if trying to escape the shackles of my skin, burst forth over me, reaching for the heavens. I carried on with quicker pace but I heard no more. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the only time I have been in Altrincham and experienced something more than a dull stupor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Why this animosity towards Altrincham? Why today, of all days, do I reveal my distaste to the world? Well, I was schooled here; I spent many days of my youth sitting on benches and drinking beer here; but the main reason, the reason that holds my hatred before the public and says, "World, observe the trauma this town has wrought upon my soul!" is this unquestionably ridiculous fact: it is home to the restaurant Francs.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-68484539455039872352011-06-08T09:48:00.002+01:002011-06-15T16:44:59.005+01:00Alternative Realities are More Interesting<div style="text-align: justify;">Jam Street cafe is in Whalley Range; some people, having no desire to be associated with said place, claim it's in Chorlton. "On no, I couldn't possibly go to a cafe in Whalley Range; imagine the muck on my shoulders and the stench t'would contaminate my body!" Yet, Chorlton, in full, is called Chorlton-Cum-Hardy. Cum? My Fiance has the same attitude. We don't live in Chorlton-Cum-hardy; we live in Chorlton Green; we live in a place of trees and ponds and grass and skipping children and kite flyers and quaint pubs and clock towers. Anyway, I do believe we were talking about Jam Street Cafe.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There's a problem with Jam Street: it's average. Who wants to read about an average place? Let's see how far you get through this short review before you fall asleep. There is a nice selection of booze; there's a small menu of well cooked food; the staff are pleasant; the music is on the decent side of mainstream; it's clean.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, instead of that dull review, we'll change reality and pretend I'm some other person. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Jam Street Cafe is Super Duper. I went with my friends, Mitsy, Disty, Pritsy and Dot and we all had a simply marvellous time. The food is scrummy. Not scrummy like ice cream but scrummy like apple cake. It makes you feel as though mummy has cooked it. Take a glance into the kitchen, for it is on display, and you'll fancy you can see her ghost, busily tossing pots and pans. Father will be in the background and he'll be tuning the radio by thumping it with his merry hands, and when he finally discovers the station of his choice he'll dance with mummy but she'll nudge him away. In short, it'll make you feel at home. We all had muffins except for Mitsy. She refuses to eat them as it "sounds rude!" Really, she is a funny devil, but nice. The muffins were made of chocolate and melted, like a glacier, as it is the wont of our times to say, in one's mouth. Inside there were little chocolate chips - erratics, to continue a theme. All was washed down with brandy; at lunch time! How naughty, but one can be naughty and relaxed in Jam Street for the service wraps you in the warmth of its welcome and drapes you in love. I must say, I took a fancy to Tim (or Andrew; I beg your pardon for forgetting your name) who would tell little anecdotes whilst he doted his muffins upon us. What a scrummy botty he had. Anyhow, you must try Jam Street. You'll simply love it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Or</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The staff of Jam Street Cafe stink of shit and are caked in muck. I saw one, I think his name was Tim but it could've been Andrew, cleaning out his toenails into a pan of soup. He turned to me, having noticed my horrified gaze, and do you know what he said? "Croutons!" He laughed at this - heartily - as though he thought himself a prize comedienne. His smile revealed something else too: Gum disease - a disgusting mix of yellow and green puss dribbling over his teeth. Who wants a muffin served by a man whose breath stinks of the sewer; whose mouth looks like it's been up a cow? Who? You? No! And the food! Oh god; Jesus save us. Blue with mould; clotted with age; poisonous for certain! Eat here and the best you can hope for is a trip to A&E. Where is the Health and Safety Executive? Where are the police? Somebody call them! Now!!! It's not all hopeless though; the glorious, raw food vegan, One Earth Cafe is just down the road. Freedom!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-26935618778903130222011-06-08T09:46:00.001+01:002011-06-15T16:45:27.684+01:00The Place Leaves My Stomach in Knotts<div style="text-align: justify;">It's Wednesday; I'm watching Channel 4; a programme called Superscrimpers. Advice: want to book a cheap restaurant? Check out toptable.com. Great! A site full of restaurant deals. A bit of searching and I find something I like: The Place Restaurant on Ducie Street. To the Place we would go. Days are spent in preparation: I get my hair styled; I get my legs waxed and eyebrows plucked; I have scent enhancement treatment; my tongue is kept free of contaminants; I buy a suit; I buy some brogues; I invest in a taxi so I can arrive in style. Disaster strikes; The taxi fails to turn up; a sign that events are turning bad.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Left, I am, to travel on a bus. This opens my senses and nerves to all sorts of little annoyances: People who get on the bus and don't know where they are going. Or people who don't have their money ready. Or girls, on phones, talking extremely loudly, saying "like" every other word, and speaking with a faux, royal accent, their sentences ending with a little burp. Or men, aggressively clearing their throats of the days tobacco and coke abuse. Or men, thick with the smell of sweat and eau de toilette. Grim times.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I arrive at The Place late. It's not immediately obvious; Where is the restaurant? I ask the girl on reception. First thing I've got to ask. Why look me up and down as though I'm not fit to be in your presence? You're just a girl behind a desk. I'm wearing a suit, polished brogues, and I can afford to get my hair brushed. Don't look at me like that; you pathetic piece of protoplasm. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Are you going to the ball tonight?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"What?"'</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"The ball sir. It's in the restaurant."</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"No, I've booked to have a meal."</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I'm afraid the restaurant is being used for a ball this evening. We are serving food in the hotel lobby; please...sit anywhere."</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Like hell I will. Serving food in the hotel lobby? It looks like a Weatherspoons. It smells like one too; all bleachy and masculine. There's no way I can eat my food in here. Why let me book a table for the restaurant if it's not available? Who the hell are these people? I leave in a huff. On the way out I'm convinced I hear the woman shout, "good fucking riddance!" My fiancé insists I need my ears checking. What to do? It's 9pm. Only one option; to The Greenhouse for a nice pie. Bliss!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next day I'm fairly pissed. I receive an email from Toptable.com asking if enjoyed my meal. Stern reply sent, I head off to town for lunch and an appointment. I intend to go to Pizza Express for their Etna only to discover it's been removed from the menu. Could the weekend get worse? Their best pizza gone? I nearly cry. I run through the alternatives but come up with nothing. My fiancé suggests The Knott. Too worn out to argue, I agree.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's still early so I choose the smoked salmon kedgeree. What a revelation. Simply marvellous food. I can heartily recommend a bit of mild spice for breakfast; and all to the tune of The Pixies. Everything that has gone wrong - The taxi, The Place, the failed rapture, Pizza Express - disappear from my mind. I am happy again; my weekend saved; thank you Knott; I love you; thank you.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-69434988947044067092011-06-08T09:44:00.001+01:002011-06-15T16:46:00.299+01:00The Rapture: How to Guarantee You'll Be Left Behind.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><a data-mce-href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:JesuswithChildren.jpg" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:JesuswithChildren.jpg" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Jesus with children, early 1900s Bible illustr..." data-mce-src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/2/2d/JesuswithChildren.jpg/300px-JesuswithChildren.jpg" height="200" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/2/2d/JesuswithChildren.jpg/300px-JesuswithChildren.jpg" title="Jesus with children, early 1900s Bible illustr..." width="163" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Idiots are gearing up for the rapture, this weekend, certain they'll be travelling to heaven in a beautiful pea green boat. The sinners, 6.9 billion of us, will stay behind and witness the greatest show on earth. Earthquakes, famine, war and plagues will ravage the earth for five months before our beloved planet goes "pop" in October.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Presumably, living on a shaking planet for five months will be as enjoyable as sitting on a fridge. Imagine that! Half a year of hands free arousal. Now that's what I call a crisis. It'll bring a whole new meaning to the word flood. And it comes free of charge. That's one hell of a send off. Thank you God. You big, fat joker!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Who gets to stay behind? I, for one: I masturbate all the time; I have sex outside of marriage; I fancy men; I am not pro-life; I have been wounded in the stones and had my privy member cut off; I eat pork and other abominations; I wouldn't let a passing stranger know my wife; I wouldn't sacrifice my son for a fictional character (except maybe tin tin); I covet thy neighbour's ass all the time; I fly off the handle; I argue; I'm arrogant and am prone to hubris; I would rather spend an eternity in hell than two minutes in the company of a contentious woman; I'm a busybody; I will accept a bribe; I drink; I believe in evolution; I like the French; the list is endless.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">None of this makes any difference. Jesus died so we could sin without worrying about our actions. I can stick my finger up my bum, right now, and it would not matter a hoot. Thank you Jesus. Thank you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To see how you can guarantee you'll be left behind, take a glance at this sin list: <a data-mce-href="http://www.wogim.org/sinlist.htm" href="http://www.wogim.org/sinlist.htm">http://www.wogim.org/sinlist.htm</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-42078078943488813202011-06-08T09:42:00.001+01:002011-06-08T09:42:28.505+01:00The Kids of Croma<div style="text-align: justify;">Croma is heavily populated by adults but it's the kids who dominate. Go there between five and seven and you'll be forgiven for thinking it's run by kids. On a recent trip I was happy to witness a kid, scampering about, weaving in and out of tables and crawling under chairs like an insane cockroach. His brothers and sisters and friends cheered him on. It made me glad to be there. But then he proceeded to eat his chocolate cake by smearing it all over his face and I thought, this is worse than watching a baby eat a banana. Sat next to him and looking rather startled was a young girl, hair plaited down to her bum, smile graced by a lack of front teeth, freckles so dense she looked sunburnt. I'm sure she must have said something horrible to the young, disgusting boy for he turned to her and sprayed ice cream all over the flower in her hair. Crying, ladies and gentlemen, followed. Plenty of it. Not just from the plaited girl but from her companion who took it upon herself to beat the boy over the head with some leftover pizza before rubbing the rest in his face to create a chocolaty, tomatoey, mask.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Everybody continued about their business as if nothing much was up. Some people were incredibly snooty about it: noses were pointed towards the ceiling; discussions continued about the fabulous quality of the pizzas (which is ridiculous in itself); and men waxed lyrical about the offside rule. My companion jabbered on about something or other: Our forthcoming wedding; the shelving issue in the small bedroom; which plants to put in the front garden; and whether or not the fart I was about to let rip, no doubt discovered by my extremely bizarre facial expression, was really appropriate. I decided it was, released a couple of pellets and said, "should we order dear?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Pizzas are unspectacular to say the least. Some of them have names riddled with exotica. Names that promise so much but fail to deliver, flavour wise. How can this be possible? How can bread, tomato, and toppings fail to taste of anything? Yet it happens in pizza parlours all the time. The people who run Croma left Pizza Express to run their own business. They should have stayed there. Or, they should have concentrated on their salad and pasta dishes which are perfect and leave one feeling satisfied. The kids think so; the kids know so. Wherever you look, there are kids who have left their pizzas. Yet the salad and pasta dishes have been consumed with relish. However, look at the adults and they appear quite content. Their plates are empty; their faces are smiling; their chatter is considered and relaxed. Croma is certainly a place where one can feel comfortable. I just wish they'd sort out their pizzas.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-4860290601097678462011-06-08T09:41:00.001+01:002011-06-08T09:41:39.795+01:00Yara, Altrincham<div style="text-align: justify;">Yara, in Altrincham, is a hustley-bustley sort of place. It's bursting at all hours. It's so full, people pop out of the front door when it's opened. Try to get up and you'll realise you're stuck in a dreadfully tiny area. Everybody is happy too. Why is everybody so happy? This is Altrincham. People in Altrincham have more sex than any other group of people in the world. Go to Altrincham for a day trip and you can quite easily score yourself a shag. Yet, beyond the large quantities of sexual behaviour, there is another, more disturbing reason why Altrincham folk have smiles etched permanently across their faces. They're all zombies. Anyhow. This isn't a review about Altrincham and its people, it's about Yara.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yara serves disgusting food. Need I say anymore? Would it not be a little unfair to make that statement and walk away without clarification? Well, yes but life is unfair. It shouldn't be but it is. However, justice must be served. Yara, for the most part, serves large quantities of brown, dry, leathery meat. That's disgusting. At least, it looks disgusting. Everywhere you turn you can see a mountain of meat. And above the meat, zombie facials beaming down at today's ration. Forget the people! Dig into the meat and you'll discover a reservoir of oil. Bush shouldn't have invaded Iraq; he should have invaded Altrincham. It would have been less expensive and fewer people would have complained. The meat smells rotten too. For some reason it smells of sulphur. A farty smell. Why does it smell of farts? Is the meat rotten? It could very easily be rotten. Is that why it is so overcooked? To kill the bacteria? Ewwww. I ordered a lamb and spinach dish. I received spinach floating in fat. "Where is the lamb," I asked. "The lamb is represented by the oil, sir." To be brutally honest, that conversation didn't take place. However, there was no meat on my plate and the oil tasted, distinctly, of lambs. Goose pimples! all over my body. Time to leave.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Leaving is an issue. The lack of space is ridiculous. Move but an inch and you'll brush the arm of a zombie. Their heads will turn; their smiles will grow; their eyes will wander over your body; their plates are empty; could they be hungry? Still? Could they be moving towards your arm? Run! Run now! Too late! Teeth! Teeth in your arm; crunching your bones; tearing your flesh; "Mmmmmm, it tastes of lamb fat!"; more smiles; more teeth; more crunching; more tearing; and then, emptiness.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-21071580478911050832011-06-08T09:40:00.001+01:002011-06-08T09:40:45.556+01:00Red Alert: St Petersburg RestaurantMy friend at St Petersburg: Pickled tomato on fork; tomato in mouth; friend's head...disappeared; sucked out of existence. Conclusion: Pickled Tomatoes are capable of creating mini black holes. QED! as the scientists say.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">So, It's a hub of Soviet physics; what else does St Petersburg have to offer? I'm gonna be pleasant. If you avoid most items on the menu, the food is pretty good. You want my advice, get the steak. You want a footnote to that advice: don't look at the price. Just buy it. It'll come, it'll be good; you can choke on the bill later. Blinis! Stop shouting. The blinis are good too. Little pancakes. How can a pancake be bad? Cheap too. Relatively cheap, I should say.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But wait. Where are all the people? Where are the physicists? Where are the emaciated serfs? Forgive me. Emancipated serfs. Could it be the price of the caviar? Ha! The price of the caviar is to be expected. Gazillions per egg. Could it be the price of everything else. You bet your ass it could. Order one or two basic items and you'll go into receivership. There's no need for prices like this. Not even in Earth's greatest restaurants would you want to pay 50 billions for a plate of boiled salmon. Why here? Who runs this place? The mafia? I wouldn't be surprised. How else can it survive?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Time to be less pleasant. It's not the tomatoes that create black holes; it's the till. A great swollen mass of cash. Forget the steak. Forget the Blinis. Forget St Petersburg.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-71449745049741441872011-06-08T09:39:00.003+01:002011-06-08T09:39:58.097+01:00Quick Pick: Chorlton's Salt Mine<div style="text-align: justify;">My friends adore Yakisoba: It's cheap; the food is great; the portions are huge; you get these little, bento boxey thingy wingies that have all sorts of goody woodies in them. Everything is so cutesy pie. Of course it is, it's Japanese. One of my friends, who shall be known as Miss W_____, squeals every time it's mentioned like she's experiencing a Lawrentian crisis. Think about this men; if you aren't managing with your willy, simply drop in the name of a good restaurant. Anyway, back to Yakisoba</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The food is tasty, I'll grant the Yakisoba folk that. And the Bento boxes are a very nice touch. On some occasions I have considered foregoing a starter because the portions are so large. Ridiculous, by the way, to forego a starter. Often, they are less disappointing than the main. Anyway, by the end of it all I feel quite satisfied.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, during the night I wake with an incredible thirst. I try to scream for water but my tongue is stuck to the top of my mouth; My lips are shrivelled and dry like a dog's arse; I feel as though I've had acid poured down my throat. The water potential is so extreme a strange mist is gathering around me. I've consumed so much salt I'm dying. I need water. I try to move but my legs, consumed by crystals, shatter into tiny fragments of flesh. I try to think but my electrical circuits are disrupted; thoughts are flying all over the place and without control. I think of Shirley Bassey and nearly have a heart attack. My hearts done for anyway; every time it takes a beat I hear a fizzing noise; that can't be good. Suddenly a screech invades my ears; it's so loud it wakes my girlfriend. And then...Total blackness. And all because I ate at Yakisoba. And all because their chef loves salt.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-18904954877459084582011-06-08T09:39:00.001+01:002011-06-08T16:01:34.722+01:001847 Felix and Fanny's<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.bistro1847.co.uk/communities/8/004/007/978/148/images/4542725936_pre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" id="il_fi" src="http://www.bistro1847.co.uk/communities/8/004/007/978/148/images/4542725936_pre.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="170" /></a>I've been informed by everybody! The sausages at 1847, Manchester's newest vegetarian restaurant, are not made from quorn. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Are you listening? They may not be made from quorn but they sure as hell taste as though they are. But what does it matter? Quorn sausages are perfectly decent fayre. I daresay I've enjoyed a quorn or two with my girlfriend. And 1847 has so much more to offer.</div></div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just off Mosley street, not a cat's throw from the metrolink track, 1847, The Vegetarian Bistro, is a classy looking joint. In a former life it was called Detox Retox. Thank god they changed the name huh? But to what? They've gone from cheesy to dull. 1847, you will surely know, is the year in which the vegetarian society was formed. What else happened in 1847? Samuel Colt sells his first pistol to the US government; Charlotte Bronte publishes Jane Eyre; Jesse James is born; Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn die. None of these events are related to vegetarianism but surely there is a better name to be had: Colts or Felix and Fanny's for example.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Digressions, digressions. What is the point of a digression? Food! This is what we are talking about. Food without meat. How can that taste good? Let me say it again. Food without meat. To all people who think vegetarian food is bland let me say a couple of words to you. Chicken is bland; Lamb is bland; beef is bland. Ignoring bacon, all food is bland unless you cook and season it properly; vegetables are no exception.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What can one eat at Felix and Fanny's (seriously, you've got to adopt that name)? The menu is small but not without highlights. Who can resist home-baked camembert? (vegans, put your hands down! Nobody cares about the bloody vegans.) Who can resist fake fish and chips? Would you find a Gin and Tonic cake in any other restaurant? Or an affogato. What the fuck is an affogato? Sounds Italian. Coffee based perhaps? With ice cream? Who knows? The point is, 1847's food is damn good; a lack of meat does not mean a lack of rich, beautiful flavours.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now then! Pay attention. You at the back. Shhh! Many a time I go to restaurants. I'm rich and I can afford it. Often, I'll encounter people who cannot eat or talk quietly. In fact, they are so caught up with the genius of their own rhetoric they fail to notice I have steam blasting from my nose like I'm some kind of angry cow. The decor is to blame. Shit wallpaper creates a shit atmosphere and, in turn, forces people to behave like shit. In 1847 the decor is so calming and so mellow nobody talks loudly or invades any other's space. People have a good time. People laugh, sometimes boisterously. People talk excessively, their mouths agape, their arms waving around so much they look like a group of Hindu gods. Yet, here, in fabulous 1847, you can't hear them. Something about the decor is magical. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">The waiters are magical too. They walk around as if filmed at 1,000 frames per second. You're given time to relax. You're given time to appreciate your food. You have the time to enjoy your company. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a rare commodity in today's restaurant world. And that is why 1847, the Vegetarian Bistro comes highly recommended.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-75218153685548660062011-06-08T09:38:00.000+01:002011-06-08T10:00:32.759+01:00A Slice of Manchester<div style="text-align: justify;">Here's something to do on a Saturday: slice through Manchester on the 41 bus. Let's start outside Sainsburys, Fallowfield, on Wilmslow Road. It's probably raining and there is a good mix of drunks, smokers, students, old men and older women crammed beneath the bus shelter. The smell is intense. Cheap perfume, cigarettes, sweat and other unsavoury aromas invade like a molecular battalion, punishing your nose with every advance. Once, when I was in my heyday, I dismounted a bus at this stop and witnessed a female student taking a shit. That, in essence, is all you need to know about the area in which you are standing. Yet, this horribleness only exists beneath the shelter. Move but an inch away and one will experience the sights and smells of the local kebab houses. These may look rundown with their garish, pink displays and their damaged neon lights but the smell coming from them is a delight. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yay, here comes the bus. Stand back though. The magic bus drivers are crazy. Their vehicles bounce along like nodding donkeys and are likely to jolt hither and thither, causing panic as they go. Fortunately, we are boarding a Stagecoach which, by comparison, provides a plush and leisurely journey. Wave goodbye to Fallowfield, or say Au revoir, as we begin our journey towards Altrincham. <br />
<a name='more'></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The place we hit first, almost immediately, is Withington. In many ways it's exactly the same as Fallowfield. But I think I prefer it. Pay a visit to Solomon and Grundy's and enjoy one of their beautifully crafted burgers; wander across the road and sample the fish and chips of The Battered Cod, rated as one of the best in the North West; take in the ripe smells of pastries and salt and vinegar; the whole place exudes cheap food, yet most of it is really rather good. Beware though! Take heed! This is the stamping ground of the infamous bus preaching woman, liable to strike at any moment. She's crazy. Her voice can penetrate anything. I swear, when you hear it, you'll feel as though someone has taken a cheese grater to your brain. She'll ramble on endlessly about the plight of her Indian son. "He's in prison!" she'll declare. "Why?" "Because he killed somebody! Please help me set him free; give me money to help set him free." </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Onwards! Up Palatine Road to the Marie Louise Gardens where I must digress. This is where I escaped the clutches of an insane woman. I'd hit her car with my fist; she'd tried to run me over. Run me over with her Ford Cortina. Of all the cars to choose. I was so mad I swung out. Little did I expect her to stop. Stop so forcefully she muddied the road with smoking rubber. Adrenalin pumped through me; what a glorious feeling. I ran like a gazelle; this woman looked mean. She carried an axe; saliva foamed from her mouth; I could hear grunting; I could smell rotting meat; what had I done? To the gardens I ran. Where else could I have found protection? This was territory she would never enter. Who knows what frightened her? I'll never be more thankful in my life. The Marie Louise Gardens; I salute you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To Northenden. What can one say about Northenden? Get off the bus here and you could become a member of a cult. Let me see. We have The Brethren, The Quakers, Jehovah's Witnesses (JW), Three Day Eventers, Kareshists and Campers. What choice! Do you become a member of the JW club and give up your weekend to sit in an old cinema? Do you join the Three Day Eventers and ponce about on a horse? Unfortunately we can't do any. We're on the bus and we're not getting off.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Through Northenden, which is best forgotten; through Northern Moor, which is even worse; through Sale Moor, nothing fancy; and into Sale, where we finally have something to talk about. Wait! How could I forget the woman I once encountered in Northern Moor. The woman who called everybody Alby. She was old. She had old hair, grey and matted; she had old clothes, brown and checked; she spoke old words; prankster and tops; she smelled old like stale beer; her voice was riddled with age, deep and filled with phlegm; she walked crookedly; she made me nervous; and, what a surprise, she sat next to me and thought it best to tell me about the events of her day. "You alright Alby? I just been to the hospital, Alby, to see Alby. He's getting on well. Alby was there too. Said he was goin' to Alby's grave afterwards which makes sense." She went on like this for a good long time. I met many Albys: little and large; young and old; clever and dull. I often wonder whether any of them exist, and I often long to see her again but I never have.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, Sale. Zumars is a damn good restaurant serving all things sub continental. Order the duck! Also, we meet our second decent chippy, Captain Cod, where the service is bright and cheery and is full of wonderful insights into the world of football. Sale precinct is a little run down, though, despite the "face-lift" of recent years. It suffers from drunk, old man syndrome. Everywhere you look, and this is particularly and depressingly true at eight in the morning, you can see red-faced, warty old men drinking beer. You can hear them clearing their throats so forcefully you'll get the impression they've swallowed a bag of nails. Everywhere reeks of piss and farts. Let one go in public here and you'll receive a round of applause. Yet, we must not be too harsh if only for the reason that this is my hometown. However, we must stay on the bus for we have payed for Altrincham and we must not waste money.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so we arrive at our destination. People who live in Altrincham think it's the dog's bollocks and, indeed, use the phrase "dog's bollocks" more than any other group of people in England. I was schooled here, at the boy's grammar, which is why my writing is so fragmented. It's home to a decent market; it's home to Chinchilla world, Super Blades, a cinema, Mad Dave, and is awfully close to Hale Village, home of the penis shaped clock tower. There are shops galore, pubs galore, restaurants galore, clubs...A club! You can even get your anus bleached in its world-famous plastic surgery clinic. It really is the dog's bollocks. It really is worth the journey. But where are all the people? Did we arrive too late? Why are the streets so deserted? It's only seven. Is everybody in bed? Take a look around. How many bed shops are there? Dozens! People in Altrincham must spend a lot of time in bed. Are they ill or indulging in large quantities of sex? Listen carefully. Can you hear? The sound of a woman screaming! From that house. Is she sick or is she sexually aroused? Why are the people of Altrincham getting so much sex? Should I move here? I think not. I work here. That's enough for me. I can think of nothing worse than rolling out of bed and into my workplace. Imagine that! So, back on the bus we get. Back to Fallowfield for a kebab and a pint at the Friendship Inn. Back to a place where people never sleep. Back to the place where I feel I belong. Back to my home.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-20799986074846847772011-06-08T09:37:00.001+01:002011-06-08T09:37:15.900+01:00Lime Trees are Absolutely Bloody Marvelous<div style="text-align: justify;">Somebody once told me, never start a review with logic. So I won't but I will come close. The Lime Tree in West Didsbury is the best restaurant in Manchester. That isn't my opinion. That is your opinion. Almost every internet site that ranks restaurants, ranks The Lime Tree as number one. Trip advisor, for example, ranks it at number one. Actually, Number one is Sapporo Teppanyaki, but having been reviewed by drunkards and hen night veterans, it can be ignored. The Lime Tree is number one. As far as I can tell, it is number one for a variety of reasons: the food is amazing; the service is top notch; the atmosphere is pitched just right; they manage to squeeze people in even when it's full; it'll be the best duck you've ever eaten; the list never ends. Trying to find a bad review for The Lime Tree is impossible. Until now.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Call me what you will but when I am presented with an overcooked trout that has had its head removed I am not a happy bunny. What kind of chef would take a knife to the head of a fish? Does he know nothing of presentation? Do it with a chicken, by all means. They are best served headless. Not trout. The trout, with its pretty features and happy expression, is a joy to behold.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I realise, of course, that most people are not weird and I am able, happily for you, to jump into your shoes and experience the restaurant as if you had stepped through its doors. So, the Lime Tree is never empty. The people who populate its tables are a decent looking crowd too. One will hear words that have never been spoken before; flagitious, incomprehensibility, splenetic, materfamilias. These are clever people and clever people never gather, en masse, in a place that serves shit food. They're beautifully presented too, like trouts. They smell like they've bathed in a country meadow for weeks. They look like they've had happy expressions etched permanently across their faces, which is quite possibly true. They sound educated; they pronounce their ts and never use an apostrophised word. This will be you. A feeling of joy and knowledge will sweep through your body as if you've sipped water from the cup of Christ; you'll look in the mirror and you'll see the most attractive person beaming back; And all before you've tasted the food.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And what food? All the words, all the adjectives that you have read on other websites are true: the wood pigeon is to die for; the trout (even without its head) is cooked perfectly; the lemon tart is the right blend of sweet and sour; everything is delicious, delicious, delicious. You won't remember the last time you were so impressed. Leaving The Lime Tree will become something distressing. How can anything ever be this good ever again? You can't afford this every week. What will you do for the next six months? Eat waffles? Never!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And that is why I try to put you off; for the sake of your wallet or purse, for the sake of your sanity. Going to The Lime Tree is an expensive business; leaving it, a traumatic one; it's a pity it is so darn good.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-38751986051480283002011-06-08T09:36:00.001+01:002011-06-08T16:03:13.884+01:00The Palace of Burton Road<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://static.auctiontables.com/images/venues/2/273/logo.png?1303902001" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" id="il_fi" src="http://static.auctiontables.com/images/venues/2/273/logo.png?1303902001" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></a>I'm walking down Burton Road, in West Didsbury, and I notice, with happiness, that it's bustling. It's like Beech Rd but more chilled. There are some kooky shops but they are not full to the brim with posh accents. There are a great many restaurants but they are not full to the brim with pooping babies. I walk past Crazy Wendy's and notice, once again, that it's host to a huge party. Pink and white balloons hover above the tables; some, which have escaped their noose, flitter hither and thither in the currents of the air conditioning. But the smell coming from inside is distinctly Thai: One can detect lemongrass, galangal, coconuts and tamarind. Yeah, like anybody can smell the tamarind. As much as these smells delight my olfactory glands, they are not enough to tempt me to stop; I don't want Thai tonight. Across the road I notice Rhubarb. This has a decent looking crowd, both inside and out. I've never been. Maybe I'll change that one day; somebody gave me a bad review though; one bad review outweighs ten good; how unfair is that?</div></div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so I arrive, with great pleasure, at the doors of the Gurkha Grill. A palace in the world of culinary excellence. For those of you who doubt this assertion, I suggest you keep your mouths shut. You can disagree with me about anything. Not this! What's that I hear in the wings? The Great Kathmandu is better? Off with your heads!<img alt="" class="mceWPmore mceItemNoResize" data-mce-src="http://manchesterreviews.wordpress.com/wp-includes/js/tinymce/plugins/wordpress/img/trans.gif" src="http://manchesterreviews.wordpress.com/wp-includes/js/tinymce/plugins/wordpress/img/trans.gif" title="More..." /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The food at the Gurkha Grill is shockingly good. The hotter it gets, the better it gets too. Flavours of ginger, chilli and sesame pour out. This is the kind of food that will make your tongue tingle. When you leave it'll sulk until you go back. You'll eat a chip, "What is this crap you're feeding me?" it'll ask. You'll tell it to shut up but it'll spit it out; keep spitting till you return to its Nepalese addiction. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">I often wonder at the people who go here and order a korma. What is that about? That is the sort of curry that is bought in a jar, off a shelf, from a shop. A korma, in any guise, is about as interesting as a Kraft cheese slice. Is there a lack of adventure in people like this? An unwillingness to venture too far from the familiar? Why not try a gurkhali or sandheko? Why not surprise yourself and order something new? Alu Tereko perhaps or Chena Khursani. Once I heard a man say his food was bland. He was eating rice and chips! Why must you and I live with such people?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The waiters are wonderful too. Go back often enough (thrice) and they'll remember you. They'll remember how hot you like your food; they'll remember what you drink; they'll remember that your girlfriend is a vegetarian; they'll remember that you like a fifteen minute break between starters and mains; with your papadums they'll give you a free salad; it's bloody delicious!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But here I must stop. It's already too busy at weekends. Do I really want more people to go? Well, yes, I wouldn't want to deny you the experience. Go and be merry.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-85914611459056611652011-06-08T09:35:00.002+01:002011-06-08T09:35:47.844+01:00Quick Pick: The Lead Station<div style="text-align: justify;">Beech Road in Chorlton has a vibrant community. Or, at least, that is what the estate agents would have you believe. Really, it is a road that has people walking down it. On their way they'll see many ladies' boutique shops, many kooky shops selling kooky goods that only a kooky person from Chorlton would buy, and a number of restaurants amongst which is the Lead Station.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
The Lead Station is the hardest restaurant to rate. On the one hand the food is pretty good but, on the other hand, the service can be pretty awful. That is not to say that the service scowls or grunts at you. In truth, the people who work there are very decent, well mannered people. What is most evident, however, is that they have never been trained to serve. They will always make some kind of error. You'll ask for the bill and they'll take half an hour to bring it; you'll ask for tea and they'll bring you coffee; you'll ask them to omit the eggs and you'll get extra eggs. Anyway, as I say, decent and well mannered, just, irritatingly shoddy.<br />
So, onto the food. The chef knows what he is doing and has clearly read many a cookery book written by chefs from around the world. That is to say, the food is international and looks like it has been lifted straight from a cookery book. It's nothing too fancy but it tastes good. The icing on the cake is the breakfast. There is a lot of it and it's beautifully cooked. Even the vegetarian option tastes great.<br />
One, final word. Breakfast times can be really busy, especially at the weekend, so get there early. Also, it is always full of babies (as people in Chorlton never paid attention in family planning classes) so expect to enjoy your meal with the screams of young children and the occasional whiff of poo.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548361623737312062.post-6607064385618448412011-06-08T09:35:00.000+01:002011-06-08T09:35:03.558+01:00Chinchilla world: Altrincham<div style="text-align: justify;">The people of Altrincham are of strange stock. If one were to delve more deeply into the fractured reality of their genes one would discover many a sordid detail. For example: humans share 98.5% of their genes with bonobos; the people of Altrincham share 92%. In fact, after years of research, it has been discovered that Altrincham people are much more closely related to the rest of the animal kingdom than any other group in humanity. It should come as no surprise, then, that one should find, amongst its pampas lined avenues, the exciting and never visited attraction of Chinchilla world.</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Chinchilla world is run by a woman named Claudia. She has a full-grown beard (some of the local children call her Claudius such is the wit that penetrates the area); she walks with a severely bent back; with every pace she takes she ums and ahs and finishes these ditty sentences with a whistle as if she's just seen something shocking; she dresses in clothes that are way too big for her giving the impression that the place is run by a walking tent; she smells of sawdust, droppings and hay; in short, she is just the sort of person you would expect to find running a place like this.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So what can you expect to see at Chinchilla world? Chinchillas? Wrong! Claudia informs me they are far too expensive. She took a trip to a local pet shop recently where they cost £60 each. Instead she has populated her hutches and cages with rabbits, hamsters, gerbils and guinea pigs which, by all accounts, are much cheaper. They have ridiculous names like Grumps, Pumps, Shits (my personal favourite), and Hunky. I'm worried for Hunky for Claudia spends an awful amount of time fawning over him. Why did she call him Hunky? Could it be possible that she fancies him? Are their genes so wildly different that they couldn't mate and produce, at the very least, an infertile child? I try not to think about the possibilities.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And then I visit the cafe. The shelves are lined with former residents that have been stuffed so badly the taxidermist must surely have been insane. One guinea pig, who used to be called Fats, is stuffed so much its eyes have literally popped out. Fats is giving me the impression that he has seen Claudia sans tent and has never recovered from the shock. Another victim, Quim, a giant hamster, is wearing a morning suit complete with a full size, fake rose. Why must Quim be forced to wear this ludicrous outfit? Can he not have any dignity in death? He had none in life; he was called Quim!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, the cafe, according to the menu, serves biscuits and tea. In truth it serves only tea. The biscuits, Claudius informs me, are for the chinchillas. Who? There are no bloody chinchillas. I bet there are no biscuits too. The tea is good, though, and is served with sugar on request.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'll miss chinchilla world. Even now I think about it all the time. I can't bring myself to go back, however. Instead, I think I'll buy myself a chinchilla. They are available for about £60 but, by golly, they are cute. This reconnection to the animal world worries me though. Is it possible, by a cruel twist of fate, that I'm from Altrincham?</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15960096749469226833noreply@blogger.com0