Breakfast. 7 a.m. in the morning. Earlier.

“Sometimes, real life can dish up pure comedy gold” I chuckle, mouth laden with Choco Pops, in the general direction of a bemused cat. Well, I would have done if the cat wasn’t stuck on the porch roof at the time and if I hadn’t been eating Shreddies. And if I hadn’t been in bed at seven o’clock this morning. But you get my drift.

The thing that tickled my fancy, so to speak, was a radio clip of Labour MP John Mann asking a hapless George Osborne “When was the last time you bought a pasty in Greggs?”

An innocent enough question on the face of it, but one that prompted one of those oddly awkward moments. Like when judges ask the clerk of the court what a “DVD” or “motor car” is. Or when slavery was abolished.

The clip went something like this…

JM: When was the last time you bought a pasty in Greggs?
George: A “pas-tee?”
JM: Yes, Chancellor. It’s sort of… well… cheap cuts of meat wrapped in pastry.
George: “Pace-tree?”
JM: Yes, it’s what Northerners call “en croute.”
George: Northerners? I thought Auntie Margaret had them culled in the eighties?
JM: No, Chancellor. Some survived and they have since built their numbers up again.
George: Oh. Shame. So a “pas-tee” is basically “Offal en Croute?” For poor people?
JM: Yes Chancellor.
George: Marvellous.

OK, perhaps that wasn’t the clip ad verbatim, but the sentiment – that George isn’t too familiar with the humble pasty these days – is the same. Who would have possibly guessed?

In his defence, George probably has no need to visit Greggs, or any other such establishment, as he most likely lunches at one of the six Houses of Parliament restaurants. Or “staff canteens” as Grant Shapps so inappropriately described them as.

But where George actually tripped up was not because he hadn’t scoffed a Greggs pasty lately, but because he was unaware that nobody eats Greggs pasties. Fact.

“But why don’t they?” I hear you mumble through a mouthful of half chewed pizza stick. Well, if you go to Greggs, it’s a sausage roll every time, innit? All that lovely, sausagey goodness oozing out through the sides of the paper bag. Nom nom. And this season’s must have accessory to go with your pram or pushchair to boot. Better still, if you eat them straight out of the bag in the street then the calories don’t count. And even though they’re only a quid for two in the shop, you can get a massive VAT free box of frozen ones from Iceland to cook at your convenience and help keep Stacey Solomon in fags. Brilliant!

So, are the government totally out of touch with the working class man or woman, like you or me? Work it out for yourself. I’m off for a glass of 2006 Nos Riqueza, Ribera del Duero.

Fin.

There’s more than one Mr Cameron being splattered all over the electric wireless and paper newspapers today.

The first has apparently been accepting donations and has spent time flapping about, under huge pressure, in the deepest, darkest trenches of the earth. The other is a film director who, coincidentally, made a film about a different, seemingly unsinkable, vessel.

If you haven’t seen the Hollywood Blockbuster(tm) Titanic, it hits an iceberg and sinks at the end. I’ll wager that it also hits an iceberg and sinks at the end of the current TV drama too. Sorry if these revelations spoil it for anybody, but, unfortunately, you just can’t change history. Well, not unless you have recently acquired a DeLorean and there’s a lightning bolt conveniently positioned overhead.

I have, regrettably, seen Titanic but had never seen James Cameron’s “other” big film, Avatar. Until last night.

In a (probably futile) attempt to raise the rotting timbers of my blog from its watery grave, I have decided to review said film. So, without further ado, here is my not-particularly-eagerly-anticipated review of Avatar.

It was quite good. I think that the moral of the story is that not all blue people are evil (in films, as opposed to real life) and we should spend more time hugging trees. And don’t let the American army buy a load of enormous JCB’s as no good will come of it.

Fin.

“The rule is: don’t use commas like a stupid person. I mean it.”

― Lynne Truss, Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation

Quite, right, too!!! Where would we be without proper punctuation!!!! Or grammar!!!!! Writing this post in all probability!!!! LOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Having a first-class honours degree in English Language and Literature probably helps Lynne on her quest immensely. Sadly, for those, like me, who don’t know their apostrophe from their elbow, things get a lot trickier. Guess and hope nobody notices is the best it gets here. Oh, yeah!

It is all too easy to make a grammatical gaff though, innit? Even just a few missing comas could mean that Paul, who loves cooking, his wife, and his cats, could soon find himself in all sorts of bother for liking “cooking his wife and his cats.” But a simple proofread would surely tell you that something was amiss, wouldn’t it?

Which made me wonder, while feeding my cats, just what Morrisons were thinking when they made this…

Chunks. Earlier.

Perhaps the serving suggestion should be “with a nice Chianti?”

Fin.

Some things are sent to test you. Crosswords, Sudoku or untangling a tangled slinky, for example. Other things act as a minor irritant, such as a fly excitedly circling your head or Jeremy Clarkson. And some things just make you mad…

Like Michael Gove, who, showing a staunch determination to live up to his (probably not) oft referred to nickname (of Michael Gove the boat ashore, hallelujah – obviously) wants to row a big boat ashore. A £60 million boat no less. As a present for Her Madge. Hallelujah!

Now, and correct me if I’m wrong, I thought we were supposed to be skint. The coffers are empty. As is the piggy bank and the fridge. Aren’t they? Clearly not in the magical Narnia-esque world of the Tories where their overused mantra of “difficult decisions” seems largely to involve deciding on the Bollinger or the Krug. The (not so) poor lambs.

Perhaps I’m been a little harsh and Mr Gove, having seen one big boat sink this week, has seen an opportunity to revitalise Blighty’s manufacturing industry that his predecessors so effectively wiped out in the eighties by building a nice new shiny one? Working on the fact that Poland has essentially built the London Olympics, I somehow doubt it.

And hasn’t the Queen already got a yacht from a previous birthday anyway, so she’s presumably not even got the time to play with two boats and tend to the corgis.

Working on this assumption, I reckon it would be a shame to waste the £60 million. So why don’t we send Liz a nice card with a twenty quid BHS voucher instead and spend whatever is left on something more useful. Like some police officers, or some nurses, or a hospital, or some schools. Or on cutting fuel duty and VAT. Or putting some of the £162 million Gove cut from the schools sports funding back. Or honouring pensions, or giving pensioners their full Winter Fuel Allowance, to think of just a few things while sat in the luggage rack of my severely overcrowded train.

We are all in this together after all. Aren’t we? Yes? Probably.

Fin.

A New Year(ish) and a new blog(ish.) Of sorts. Which you should no doubt savour and digest slowly as it may be the only one this year. Probably.

So, after a week of salad and governmentally recommended alcohol abstinence, it’s time to fill the belly up again. Hoorah! This time at Wolverhampton’s Cafe Maxsim no less, which, despite the confusion caused by my consistent misreading of the name, is not a place to sit supping Weißbier while discussing economic and sociopolitical worldview and method of socioeconomic inquiry, but a rather fine tapas restaurant in Wolverhampton. I should at this point note that you could most likely also do the former should it take your fancy, but you would need to bring your own Weißbier.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. My review…

If Jamie’s Italian opened a Jamie’s Spanish it would probably involve serving up the remains of a freshly-thrown-off-the-church-roof-and-subsequently-splatted donkey. Fortunately, no such problems at Cafe Maxsim.

The food was absolutely lovely, the atmosphere warm, the service excellent, the cost an absolute bargain, and the chorizo and tomato dish with the poached eggs was fantastic. So much so that we ordered two. You even get to discover a bit of Oscar Wilde in the toilets, if that’s your bag.

Put simply, this is my new favourite restaurant in Wolverhampton. I will definitely go again. Soon. And you should too.

Fin.

Mystery eggs at Cafe Maxsim. Earlier.