Sometimes a cup a soup and a load of fruit just won't do

On just about every day that I work, I have roughly the same thing for my lunch (dinner, as we call it up here):

• Minestrone cup-a-soup
• 2 oranges
• 2 apples
  

The variety of fruit changes with the season and I can't wait for nectarine and plum time; I'm getting a bit fed up of Russian Roulette Braeburns and labour-intensive oranges. I don't know where Tesco are sourcing their braeburns at the moment, but that last few batches have been bloody horrible - sour and powdery at the same time.

People tell me that I don't have enough to eat at lunchtime, especially since I never have a breakfast and I'm up from about 5.30am. The thing is, you can have a sandwich, pot of yoghurt and some fruit and you still end up starving hungry by 4pm for triple the calorific intake.

But today I've had my cup-a-soup - it was OK. I've endured two apples; they weren't particularly bad, but they didn't do much to satisfy me and I managed to chew a couple of pips too (apple pips contain cyanide you know). I'm looking at the remains of my lunch as it threatens me from inside a carrier bag on my desk: three orange things waiting to make a mess and cause my eyes to water. I don't think I can cope with them today. I need a king size Twix...

...and chips and gravy.


A bit about avian flu
Having walked past the pond on my way back from my constitutional wander to the shops, it dawned on me that it's hardly any wonder that there's a concern about bird flu. Those ducks are stupid: they were all there, wandering around barefoot with snow up to their knees; jumping in to the freezing water, even diving right below the surface.

Catch their deaths, so they will. They need to be wrapped up warm with their feet up in front of Trisha, not messing about outside in the cold weather.


A complaint
I had another altercation with smokers in the entrance to my local hospital yesterday, so I e-mailed the hospital to ask if nothing could be done about these antosocial, fucktard scumbags. I got a nice reply today - very prompt of them - saying they were really tired of the problem, but are trying other initiatives to ensure that smokers use the shelters provided. The woman who e-mailed me then went on to say: "... however the culture of the catchment area is containing a high percentage of smokers who do not take kindly to being asked to move elsewhere." In other words, they'e a bunch of fucking scumbags who give abuse whenever they're told to do anything.

We'll see.

It's not as if I'm even that bothered about it; I can tolerate cigarette smoke, having enjoyed up 50 a day myself in my life. It's just the principle of the thing (I would never smoke where it was prohibited) and the fact that the fuckers act like "Am ah bovvered??" abusive teenage shits whenever you challenge them. They're like a different species, they are definitely sub-human in their ability to communicate and process simple logic - or rather, inability to do so in anything other than the manner of a juvenile. Perhaps lighting up in that particular spot could trigger something to seal off the area and pump a load of toxic gas in there?


Snow
I was really surprised when I got off the motorway to find the ground thick with a covering of snow. Then again, it had been forecast and everywhere else has been getting it over the past couple of days.

It was freezing when I left home this morning: -3°C and the car was thick with ice, but it was lovely and bright. Of course the motorways had been gritted and as soon as I picked up speed, my windscreen got covered in salt spray. The temperature gauge told me it was still below zero outside. Why then did I try to use my screenwash, knowing that it'd be frozen? The result of this was a couple of sweeps of the wipers over the windscreen that the smeared salt over the entire glass. Couldn't see a fucking thing for the next ten miles of my journey.

Use the force, Luke.