The Dick Mallet

My days of blogging have come to a sorry end, dear reader. To celebrate, I hereby finish with my beloved Sunday Mallet, daughter of Fib Sunday, cousin to Haiku Saturday.

Families are funny things.

The last edition of the Sunday Mallet began several weeks ago. Japanesewhispers left us with cock. The first word which came to mind: dick.

Please, my lamb. Play on.

Joku

Yes! It's Saturday - and Haiku Saturday to boot.

After playing, I was reminded of the following... Not sure why and refusing to use the omnipresent street talk word du jour random, I hereby share with you, dear reader:

A guy walks into a bakery and asks, "Can I have a bum please?"

"I'm sorry?" replies the girl behind the counter.

"I want your bum. Nice big white one, something to have with my soup, later."

"Ah! You mean a bun!"

"Yes, that's right, a bum."

The girl serves the guy with his bun and off he trots to the ironmonger.

Once inside, he asks the guy in the shop, "I wanna fuck it."

"What?" exclaims the ironmongery assistant.

"Leaky roof. Catch the water. Fuck it."

"Ah! You mean bucket!" says the assistant.

"Yes, that's right, fuck it."

Our guy buys his bucket and leaves for the jewellery shop.

After a brief browse, he asks the chap at the timepieces counter, "Cock?"

"Mary, please!" responds the jeweller! "I don't get off until five!"

"No, you don't understand. I need cock, mine is broken, never know the time."

"Ah! You mean clock."

"Aye! That's right. Cock."

With the assistant disappointed, our man leaves the jewellery shop and makes his way to the bus stop for the journey home. While waiting, he's approached by a fellow would-be traveller who asks, "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

"Aye," says our man. "Just hold my bum and fuck it while I get my cock out."

Haikoleme

Traditional.

Some weeks ago, while shopping in Waitrose, I bought two bottles of Fentimans pop. One, dandelion and burdock, the other, cola. Not average beverages, though, dear reader! These are apparently olde worlde versions of their post modern selves. The dandelion and burdock is actually brewed, for Christ's sake! Ok, so the amount of alcohol therein is negligible. So much so, I'd imagine anyone might have to drink two hundred pints before getting even slightly merry. Of course, by that point, all the sugar consumes will have resulted in some dreadful medical nightmare, being slightly merry might actually be a help.

Full-sugar drinks scare me, my little maid. Fat doesn't, but sugar does. I avoid it at all costs. Artificial sweeteners can replace sugar without any ill effects. I'm yet to find a fat free alternative to any of my favourite foods that's at least edible. Flyte? I'd rather die.

The cola and dandelion and burdock sat in my refridgerator for at least two weeks, if not three, maybe four. Today, in the midst of my vile cold, I decided to try one. Cola! I was hoping for a new taste sensation, something fabulous. I thought I'd be comparing this drink to Coca Cola, the way some people compare fillet steak to Spam.

It was nothing special.

Full of aches and pains, I sat, drinking my cola, and watched Brokeback Mountain while Ian did some more back-breaking work in the front garden.

My head is in some state, packed with snot. It's killing me.

The evening was taken up with television: Human Nature, which, I think, is the best Doctor Who episode ever made, Doctor Who Confidential, the final thirty minutes of Brokeback Mountain, some extended advert on Channel 4 and now blogger, looking to see if there are any new Haikus and completing Ric's meme.

The rules:

Post a similar entry to this one and add a link back to the person who tagged you.

List five reasons why you blog about the things you blog on your blog.

Choose your five tag victims and tag them nicely.

Write a comment on their blog letting them know that you tagged them.

1. I have nothing better to do.
2. I adore the interaction.
3. Philosophical issues stir me.
4. I don't eat breakfast (if I did, scarily, I might actually write about it).
5. I'm obsessed with poo.

I'm tagging Alan, Alan, Voix, Brian and Lost Boy.

I, though, am breaking the rules and informing no-one that they've been tagged. I'm a rebel today.

I thank you.

Banku

Saturdays are often outrageous, dear reader, and possibly my favourite day of the week. Having said that, though, Thursdays are good, too. On Thursdays, I scatter almonds all over the floor, douse myself in honey and then roll around in the nuts. Just before lunch, the local arab community comes to my house and licks me clean.

This Saturday, mes amis, was better than even the most gluttonous of Thursdays. Phyllis and I drove down into the heart of The Borders to see my pseudo-brother-in-law play his trombone. I was impressed with the size of his instrument and how readily he was prepared to slide it in and out. Can you imagine my surprise, my little maid, when he offered to show me his bell-end?

Oh, darling, what a fabulous way to spend Haiku Saturday!

Oh, and just when I thought it wasn't possible, it got better! On my return home, I sat down to watch the most recent episode of Doctor Who, 42. All thanks to the BBC and Virgin's watch again service!

I was so excited, I nearly puked!

Euroku

Enjoy fondling responsibly.

Good evening mes amis! Oh, Danny Boy, Ich bin der Teufel!

Eins, zwei, drei... Tanzen!

Saturday, Saturday, everyone loves Saturday! And a Saturday like today could hardly get any better. There's Haiku Saturday to play, the study to tidy and a good night on the telly! Yes, so, ok, Doctor Who has been postponed for seven days, but only to make way for the Eurovision Song Contest! So there will be no slashing of wrists tonight! Only high campery, indeed!

But who will win?

It's probably anyone's guess. Up until this morning, I was inclined to lean in Latvia's direction, but I woke up with silver lamé and glitterballs on my mind. And this can mean only one thing. Verka Serduchka is going to take the prize with this: Dancing Lasha Tumbai! The UK, sadly, will come last with next to no points for Scooch's effort is absolute rubbish. It's a shame, really. It might have won if this was 1995. And one of thier number is a twenty seven year old who looks like he's in his early forties. I'd advise him to lose weight, but that's the pot calling the kettle black, so I won't. Still, it's not all bad. He's got a massive cock and comes from Bournemouth. Curiously, everyone born in Bournemouth has got a whopping dick.

Investments can go down as well as up.

Radiku

Saturday, my little maid, harbinger of many things, but most notable, Haiku Saturday.

I just played.

Why don't you have a go yourself...?

I look forward to it every week. Almost as much as I used to look forward to keyboarding. Typing sounded dreadfully old fashioned, even in the late 1980s, so, at my school, replete with three computers (yes, three!) we did not type, we keyboarded.

My teacher was as camp as knickers and wore the very traditional 1980s gay moustache. He was a kindly man who gave the boys much better marks than the girls. Mr Wilkins was his name. And still is, probably.

He was funky, too, as any gay should be and let us listen to Steve Wright In The Afternoon on Radio 1. "Try and type with the rhythm of the music," he'd say.

I never cared for Steve Wright. Anyone who feels the need to pack out their radio show with a "posse" and have them constantly lick his arse, is, in my humble opinion, a cunt, dear reader.

Jamku

Brian's upset, angry, even. I can understand completely, and so will you, dear reader, if you read the introduction to Haiku Saturday.

I love my daughters dearly and would only ask someone to look after them if I trusted that person implicitly. If that person then went and handed them over to a third party without asking me, even if that person thought the third party might be better equipped for looking after dogs, I would not be amused.

When I'm overtly anxious, depressed, sorrowful, angry or generally feeling pathetic, I like to immerse myself in something, some methodical task where I have to do two things:

a) Concentrate on what I'm doing
b) Become an automaton

I know these things don't exactly sit well together, like claiming to be a gas and a liquid at the same time... But, hey, think of The Trinity. If God/Jesus/Holy Ghost can do it - why can't I?

So, ok, making jams, jellies and marmalade is perfect for times like these. I have to concentrate on getting amounts correct and following the recipe, I have to think, but I don't have to think for myself. I follow the same recipe every time and hardly ever veer from it.

My jam-making exercise, today, was not to cure a depressive state or to proverbially dry my tears. I just happened to have some frozen raspberries in the freezer. A good way to make space in my icy TARDIS is, surprise, surprise, to use things up. A kilo of raspberries do take up quite a bit of space. I now have room for more frozen chips and Quorn products. And ice cream. I'm not a health freak you know, dear reader. I'll now not have to wander the aisles of Tesco on Monday night wondering if this, that or the other will fit in the freezer.

The recipe is quite straightforward. Most, if not all soft fruit jame recipes are the same in that the ingredients are simply an equal measure of sugar to fruit and a wee drop of lemon juice. My Mum's recipe, the one I've always followed, has one simple addition or quirk. Two apples passed through a mouli. Mum got the recipe from an old friend and neighbour, Mrs Annie Hargreaves, from deepest Dorset. People from Dorset, especially the older ones, are obsessed with apples. Everything has an apple in it. Not sure why, perhaps only because they were once so terribly plentiful in the west country. The addition of the apple means an increaded amount of pectin in the jam, resulting in a shorter boiling time and a brighter, fresher jam. You'll love it, my little maid. If you don't want to go to the bother of mincing apples, though, simply use jam sugar with added pectin or buy neat pectin and add that, following the manufacturer's instructions.


You will need:

• 1 kilo raspberries
• 1 kilo granulated cane sugar
• 1 lemon, juiced
  
• 2 small cooking apples
• butter

Method:

1. Take a very small knob of butter and grease the bottom of a very large heavy based pan.
2. Peel the apples, quarter and removed the cores.
3. Pass the apples through a mouli.
4. Into the pan, add the apple, raspberries, sugar, lemon juice and a further very small knob of butter.
5. Warm on a low light until the sugar has completely dissolved.
6. DO NOT boil the ingredients at this point.
7. Once all the sugar has dissolved, crank up the heat and bring to a rolling boil.*
8. Continue to boil for four to five minutes.
9. When setting pointº is achieved, turn out the heat and bottle your delicious jam.

*A rolling boil is denoted by the inability of a stirring action to stop the jam from bubbling.
ºSetting point for jam is usually 105˚c. A good way to tell if jam is set or not without a thermometer is to let a wee drop hang off of a wooden spoon. If it does hang, it's set, if the drip falls like water, it's not. Another good way is to pop a saucer in the freezer before you begin making the jam. When you think you've got a set, pop a teaspoon of jam on the saucer and return it to the freezer for a couple of minutes. The jam is set if it wrinkles when you push it gently with your finger.

Doctor Haikwho

It's Saturday, dear reader. For Brian and I, this means only two things:

Haiku Saturday

and

Doctor Who

Haiku Saturday has gone ahead as usual. Doctor Who should go ahead as usual. There's a vile and overtly heterosexual football match going on today between Watford and Manchester United, exclusively live on BBC1. Manchester United are currently in the lead. It's Watford 1, Man U 2. If Watford score another goal before the ninety minutes are up, the game will go into extra time and Doctor Who will be cancelled. Well, postponed until next week.

I'm sick with worry.

I'm so upset, I can't think of a Haiku. Pray for me, dear reader, that Saturday unfolds in a fabulous fashion, and not a crappy one. I want Doctor Who. I want Haiku. I want it all, and I want it now. I hope God's in a good mood.

Caiku

Bloomin' 'eck, dear reader. The house stinks of baking. Phyllis and I have been proper busy birds. My beau's made some hot cross buns and I've knocked up a dozen chocolate Easter fairy cakes. The Americans call them cup cakes, which is sweet.

There's lots for me to do today. We're preparing lunch for four (Ian's Father Aunty June will be here shortly), there's High Society to see at the Edinburgh Playhouse and there's a wee game of Haiku Saturday to play. You can play, too, if you like, my little maid. Just click here. Go on. You know you want to. Exciting! Nice to be interactive.

You might also want to make the fairy cakes, my bird. If so, you will need:

• 125g soft butter (slightly salted is best)
  
• 125g golden caster sugar
• 2 large organic eggs
• 50g self raising flour
• 75g cocoa
• 10g cornflour
• 2 teaspoons baking poweder
• 2 tablespoons milk
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract (NOT essence)
• 2 tablespoons amaretto
• A few drops of almond flavouring
  
• 200ml double cream
• 250g dark chocolate (70% cocoa solids)
• 2 tablespoons maple syrup
  

Bung everything except the chocolate, cream and maple syrup into a bowl and beat with an electric whisk until smooth and pale.



Evenly dispense the cake batter into twelve large paper cases.



Bake at 180ºc for fifteen to twenty minutes, though fifteen should be enough. Leave to cool on a wire rack while you make the topping.



Pop the plain chocolate, cream and maple syrup into a saucepan. Melt, under a low light, slowly. Next, beat the topping until it's thick and glossy.



Dollop this thick chocolatey and fudged mass on top of your wee cakes, but only once the cakes are quite cold.



Leave your Easter cakes somewhere cool, though preferably nowhere as cold as the fridge, until the topping begins to set. At this point, a decorative addition is order.



As they're Easter cakes, I've used those widely available mini-eggs with a crispy sugar shell. Seasonal adjustments are to be expected; a ghoulish jelly sweet for Hallowe'en, a Love Heart sweet for Saint Valentine's day, or even a candle for a birthday... One might imagine these cakes would be fabulously chic with no decoration. This could well be true, though using the words fairy, cake and chic in the same sentence really makes no sense. Fairy cakes should be cutesy, cheap and covered in artificial colouring.

Loch3aikwho

This, dear reader, is the best Saturday since that Saturday in August 1981. You remember. The one when we found a tenner on the beach and then saw Noel Edmonds on the bus.

Today is better. "But why?" I hear you cry. Let me tell you...

In 1981 only two fantastic things happened. Today, three! Yes!

We popped up to Callendar this morning and to Loch Lubnaig.

A new series of Doctor Who is about to begin on BBC1.

...and...

It's Haiku Saturday!

You know what to do... Click here! Go on, you know you want to.

Will this pleasure never end?

Haiku

All I wanna do, dear reader, is touch you.

Well, that's not strictly true. I also want to tell you about Haiku Saturday. You can't stop the children of the revolution, and you most certainly can't stop Brian. And neither should you try.

Click here to take part in the weekly game of Japanese fabulousness. Go on, you know you want to.

Beat me, Daddy.

Haiku

Hey, lady. It's Haiku Saturday. Click here. Go on.

And it's also Mum's last full day in Edinburgh. A short visit. Short and sweet.

No-one seems to say short and sweet anymore. Nor my giddy aunt. Such a shame.

Shame #2 of the day: Scooch being chosen to represent us in the Eurovision Song Contest with some drivel about flying a flag. Click here to watch it. I just know we're going to come last with this tripe. With lines like "Salty nuts?" and "Would you like something to suck on, Sir?" the only people who are going to vote for us are the gays. Oh, hang on, the only people who watch the Eurovision Song Contest are the gays! Gosh! So we're going to win, then...!

Haikoughing

Although I'm better than this time last week, still coughing up filthy muck from my infected lungs, I'm much better than I was. I no longer think that death is lurking around the corner.

I'm well enough to play Haiku Saturday today. Are you? You'd better be, bitch. Click here. Or else. You want me to get the Crisco out?

In other news:

Denmark are going to win Eurovision this year. I'm sure of it. Check out the video for their entry by clicking here. It's gay, it's drag, it's pop, it's disco - it's a winner!

Haiku world

Three things to remember today, dear reader:

1) It's Haiku Saturday
2) Window On You World is tomorrow
3) Eat and drink

We're going to the lakes!