Category: Awful, just awful

Avatar DiJaBringaBeer

I know nothing about the owner of this house.

Garden wall with a wooden name plate for a house that reads "DiJaBringaBeer"

I know nothing about the owner of this house except that they named their house this.

Imagine coming up with this.

Imagine coming up with it and thinking it was so good, so funny, so enduring in its humour that it wouldn’t just bring you joy and laughter in this one moment where you thought of it, but it would continue to bring you joy and laughter for years to come.

Imagine thinking that it would bring joy and laughter to other people if you stuck it on the front of your house.

Imagine applying to the Royal Mail to change the name of your property. Applying to the council to have it amended in their records. Speaking to people at every bank and utility company who have your details to explain to them, and spell out letter by letter, your brilliant joke, so that it would appear on all the post addressed to you.

Imagine going in to Timpson’s and asking them for a rustic wooden house sign in sustainable pine with bark surround and telling them that this is the word you want them to engrave into it using three-inch-high letters in Chancery Bold Italic.

Imagine that.

Avatar Why would you buy this?

We all know that I have a turbulent past (turbulent, I say!) with spending my disposable income. Kev has gotten so mad in the past based on my “pointless purchases” that he literally cannot even sometimes. It’s all heartbreaking stuff.

As we wandered around the slightly freezing Lake District in mid-November, me forgetting a proper coat and taking a photo where my nose looks as bright and pink as a carnation, I came across the following in a shop. It was hidden away towards the back along with some other shonky and partially damaged goods:

Now I’m one for a bargain but unless I have another set of draughts with only the black pieces, possibly acquired from a rival store with a similar problem, then surely this is going to remain unsold for some time.

Did they eat all the black pieces thinking they were licorice? Were they stolen by a deranged kleptomaniac with specific requirements? Did anyone get a video?

We will never know the full story and normally I would put good money on them still being there the next time we visit, however human beings are weird and I reckon someone will snap them up sharpish. Possibly as a joke present.

Ack, that should have been me!

Avatar The Shoe and the Bin

Welcome to the Shoe and the Bin, Carnforth’s leading example of prime pub bistro patisserie and winner of four ‘Confusing pub but great grub’ awards since 2015.

We pride ourselves on the concoction of food available from our three leading chefs participating in everything from Chinese to Thai to Brazilian and traditional English fare. If you’re after something in particular we can guarantee that we will have cooked it at least once in our 35 years of trading.

With the Christmas period approaching, it would be best to book a table now, even if you don’t need it. We get fully booked within a few hours of December and we would hate for you to miss out on all the fun. Chef Boswick is cooking up a storm with his mango and hazelnut chutney stuffing balls and chef Annalise can’t wait for you to try her steaming mincemeat gravy cake trays.

This is but a small sample menu of the delights that you can expect to see over the festive period, subject to availability and whether or not we can be bothered to dust off the extra kitchen equipment required to make it.

December Menu

Starters

  • Home cured tin roof salmon, horseradish cauliflower umbrellas, picked Gorbachev, snout oil (GF)
  • Mixed balcony terrine, feta mousse sharks, disgusting leek with a fresh jus (V, GF?)
  • Smoked bollok baraccas, sauce uncommon gribble, apple underarm spin, sourdough shat (DF)
  • Cajun pork snubbles, caramelised orange dandruff, picked mooli, fractured booli (GF, possibly DF)
  • Singing mackerel herblets, bromance potato salad, “laughing” croutons, citrus gel, Tale of Two Cities
  • Seasonal salad, seasonal purée, seasonable backwash, seasonal roasted barley with a seasonal fresh jus (VG, yes, very good)

Mains

  • Acrid cod, saffron undercarriage, stained broccoli, split butter opera fund (GF…)
  • Hasty beef feather blade, caramelised fondant jacket, mash ‘n’ a half, wander carrot, criminal leek, red wine jus (GF?)
  • Ravished sea bream, blimey purée, dilapidated Jersey royals, curious tenderstem with nutty forecast fennel slaw
  • Tempura eagle tofu, distinct absence of potato, pak choi, pineapple choi, Chris Choi, waffle and spring onion salsa
  • “Bing Bling” chicken breast, telephone purée, hot potato mingers, creamed dialect, with a fresh jus (GF!)
  • Paranoid risotto, herb space, toucan cheese (V)

Desserts

  • Unruly salted caramel chocolate and leisure centre tart, mango flange
  • Brigadier red wine poached pear, flaked docile crumb, arresting cream, taxi home (GF)
  • Angry lemon posset, chuckle crumbles, raspberry mullet
  • Mincemeat gravy cake tray, meringue parapets, upskill crust, shot of Pepto-Bismol
  • Chocolate mousse, tear-stained cinnamon dome, passionfruit bookmark with a banana bichon frise sauce
  • Vanilla crème brûlée, black olive amaretto, with a daunting fresh jus (GF)

The Shoe and the Bin: come for the food, stay for the food.

Avatar Le Soulier d’une Vie

(The Shoe of a Lifetime) A French Arthouse film

Le Soulier d'une Vie

In a small, forgotten quarter of Paris, an unremarkable alley harbours a peculiar sight: a solitary shoe resting atop a weathered bin. This seemingly mundane object becomes the focal point of a poetic journey in Le Soulier d’une Vie.

As the seasons change, we witness fleeting moments from the lives of the residents who cross paths with the shoe. There’s Élodie, a dancer grappling with the loss of her passion; Pierre, an aging baker reminiscing about his long-lost love; and Léon, a young boy with an unyielding curiosity. The shoe, a silent witness, absorbs their dreams, secrets, and sorrows.

Through a tapestry of vignettes, the film delves into themes of impermanence, connection, and the beauty found in the mundane. Shot with a delicate hand and a lyrical eye, Le Soulier d’une Vie is a melancholic, yet hopeful reflection on the fragments of life that unite us all.

Avatar Log burner controversy

The modern world is one of tolerance and equality, of partnerships and collaboration, and of diversity and open-mindedness. It is a world that many have come to loathe given how different it seems from the pre-twentieth century landscape we all grew up in. I personally am still in two minds about whether it’s gotten better or worse because if I was to side with the latter then I would be throwing myself into the great rubbish tip of cancellation. If I pine for the days of cheap petrol, lad culture and “cool Britannia” (bleugh!) from the 1990s then surely I’m a racist?

Well, no, I wouldn’t be because that’s bonkers but you have to be careful as to what you say and do, especially here on the internet. One false word and my reputation (?) would be in tatters. Consider me? Consider me not, thank you. All this cancellation culture comes from a lack of tolerance, but what I will not tolerate is blatant sexism of the highest order masquerading as a cosy forum for people to interact in.

Recently Vikki was, presumably, looking up things to do with log burners what with us getting one with the house and winter practically dossing around our respective doorsteps. She happened upon this and sent it to me:

A female only group? Chatting about log burners? One which I am unable to participate in because of my gender? Outrageous! Surely this is a hate crime. If you can’t advertise for gender-specific jobs then you shouldn’t be able to advertise FILTH such as this. I’m sure there are hundreds, nay, thousands of male-only groups where they’re all out there discussing the highs and lows of using a log burner, but I don’t want in on them. I want to see the other side of the coin; I want the female perspective and I can’t because I’m a man.

Am I wrong to want to be part of something that has nothing whatsoever to do with me?

Not at all. Let me in!