Misplaced fish, Madonna's FedEx travails and SEXY JUMPERS: Things of the week
If this week was an emoji...
...it would be the vom, with a crown on it.
In sympathy, obviously, with the Duchess of Cambridge's ongoing battle with hyperemesis gravidarum - no doubt aggravated by daily Piers-Morgan-on-GMB-oh-christ-who's-he-invited-on-now-induced bleuuurghhhhh.
Reason to get a new gym of the week #1
ROSS is on a treadmill, sweating furiously. He is also listening to A GENTLY AMUSING PODCAST.
ROSS: (runs, bow-leggedly)
ROSS increases the speed of his treadmill, just as A GENTLY AMUSING PODCAST reaches A FAIRLY HILARIOUS SEGMENT.
ROSS: (emits strangled gulp-squawk-laugh, something between a mating fox and clogged drain) HA!
NEIGHBOURING TREADMILLEES: (👀)
ROSS unsuccessfully attempts to both pause A GENTLY AMUSING PODCAST and temporarily decrease the speed of his machine, while also failing to suppress a further gasp-giggle-squeak.
ROSS: (tangled in headphones, about to topple from treadmill) HEEEEEK!
NEIGHBOURING TREADMILLEES: (👀👀👀👀)
ongoing mystery of the week
Sometime in July, a pack of two breaded cod fillets - most definitely purchased the week previously - went missing from our freezer.
Given that we neither consumed said fillets, nor suffered a seagull break-in, the most obvious explanation would seem to be that I accidentally stashed the fish somewhere other than our freezer (see also: 2015’s ‘ham amid the clingfilm’ incident, bi-weekly ‘why-won’t-this-fit-in-the-fridge-door-oh-wait-it’s-the-kettle’ episodes).
Exploratory rummages in the baking, herb and vegetable cupboards have so far proved fruit— or rather —fishless. With flat packing now underway, and its use-by-date several weeks behind us, I await the cod’s eventual, sulphurous resurface with trepidation.
Reason to get a new gym of the week #2
ROSS is on a rowing machine, sweating ferociously. It is 6.02am and the gym is empty, save MAD-LOOKING WOMAN, who just ran past.
MAD LOOKING WOMAN runs past.
MAD LOOKING WOMAN stops briefly to jump up and down using AN IMAGINARY SKIPPING ROPE, before running past. Again.
ROSS: (rows, determinedly)
MAD-LOOKING WOMAN completes her fourth lap around bank of treadmills, apparently oblivious to primary function of said treadmills.
ROSS: (👀, towards the nearest exit)
Oh so that's what that song was about of the week
Madonna's 'Bitch, I'm Madonna': weak excuse for some grill-posturing plus yet another goddamn Nicki Minaj feature, right?
WRONG. It's what happens when even the Queen of Pop struggles to retrieve her mail from errant postal providers.
Top tip from a nobody, Madonna: sometimes a passport does the trick.
This week I mostly coveted...
The sexy jumper from God's Own Country
The perfect heavy-duty knitwear for all your autumnal needs; whether it's moody Yorkshire hillside contemplation, heart-busting lamb rearage, mud-splattered barnyard coitus, or handsome ruggedry, generally.
WHERE CAN I BUY ONE. NO I TOOK NOTHING ELSE FROM THE FILM. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?