MIDNIGHT SAUSAGE

I grew up in a family of vegetarians.

There was actually a stage in which my older brother turned us all VEGAN (it remains one of the most traumatic periods of my life), so as a family we were forced into drinking rice milk and couldn’t eat Cheerios because THE HONEY WAS CRUEL TO THE BEES.

(I should point out that my brother was heavily influenced at the time by his meek, mild, TREE-HUGGER of a girlfriend, who didn’t believe in drinking and used to carry a spade in her handbag so she could dig a hole and shit in the woods. We never quite got along).

Anyway, being a big animal lover, I trundled along quite nicely as a vegetarian over the years. Why would I want to eat a cow? So sweet! SO FURRY! Awww look at that adorable chicken! LET ME PICK IT UP AND GIVE IT A GIANT KISSY!

However, at the age of 20, I left my home in Wales and moved to London.

And something… happened. Something dark. Something disturbing.

It would turn midnight, I’d have sunk a few bottles of gin, when I would start to get these… how can I put this lightly… RAW BLOODIED MEAT CRAVINGS.

It became a dirty secret. Ostentatiously picking off the pieces of pepperoni from a shared pizza, then secreting them in my handbag to gorge on later. Leaving the flat under cover of darkness (If I had owned a balaclava I would have worn it) to get my sick thrills at the local kebab shop.

But things really hit a low point when I went back to my parents house for Christmas and went out clubbing with the girls. Oh that night. GOD FORGIVE THAT FATEFUL NIGHT.

Bursting home at 4am, wild-eyed and smelling of tequila, I cavorted to the kitchen looking for my fix. The meat. WHERE IN THE LOVE OF GOD WAS I GOING TO FIND ANY MEAT?!!

And then it hit me. Freddie. Our puppy. Freddie, our adorable little cocker spaniel puppy. He was in the process of being trained and some meaty, puppy training treats in the fridge (you thought I was going to say that I ate Freddie, didn’t you?)

So I did it. Sat at the kitchen table, I ate Freddie’s puppy training treats. Looking at the packet, they were described as containing ‘meat-based matter’. I can’t quite bring myself to think of what that matter may be.

Morning comes. Mother bursts in. ‘SOMEBODYS EATEN FREDDIE’S TRAINING TREATS!!!!!’ she cries.

‘CHRIST ON A BLUE BIKE!!’ I reply, trying to match her tone and stifle a meat-based matter burp.

Freddie, looking on in disgust.

We never did get to the bottom of where Freddie’s treats went. My suggestion that perhaps Freddie opened the fridge and helped himself- ‘GOOD GOD, THE DOG’S A GENIUS, MOTHER!’ wasn’t met with much enthusiasm.

Now, the fact that I still insist on being a vegetarian has become somewhat of a running joke amongst my friends.

And now of course, I’m going on a bloody cookery programme. Where I shall probably get drunk and ask my date to ‘slip me some sausage under the table’ and promptly be arrested.

G xx

P.S thank you SO MUCH to whoever has followed or liked this blog so far, absolute legends. When I reach 500 followers we are all having a massive party.

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BLIND DATE DRUNK

So my friend has set me up on a blind date.IMG_2224

Now, I can be a LITTLE picky when it comes to the men that I date (I realise that at this stage beggars can’t be choosers, but even so). I once stopped dating a boy because I became transfixed by his nostril size. Another ended after the first date because I thought he had ‘arms like eels’.

So my friend pre-warned me with this guy -‘Just turn up on the date with an open mind’ she said. ‘Don’t be a dick and stalk him on Facebook before hand or analyse his profile pictures. You could really like him’.

So that night as I logged in to stalk him on Facebook and analyse his profile pictures, I tried to look to the positives. I mean… he seemed lovely. A nice, well-dressed… God-fearing boy (is this the sort of thing one is supposed to look for?). I almost balked when I got to the profile picture of him cradling a large salmon, but managed to move past it.

Then my mind started to wander- what if I actually did like this boy? Salmon is, after all, my favourite fish. What if I actually took things slowly, dated him properly and he BECAME MY BOYFRIEND?

That’s where the thoughts about mine and my blind dates future together should have ended.

But unfortunately for me, my gin-addled brain kept on whirring.

Suddenly, I was thinking through what area in London we would move in to together (south, clearly), how many bikinis I should take with me on our first holiday to the Maldives (making a mental note to pack cystitis relief sachets and corn plasters in my toiletries bag), where and how he would propose to me and whether I would burst into tears or laugh in his face, what sort of hat my mother would wear to our wedding and whether our first born son should be called something sensible, like Sam, or something really edgy, like Barabbas or Wee-Willy.

And then the inevitable came. The arguments. The heartbreak. Me walking into the bedroom to find a pair of size 8 knickers (clearly not mine) stuffed behind the bedside cabinet. Him walking in on me without makeup on for the first time in our 3 year relationship and realising that he had actually married a woman who resembled a large badger.

Then came the divorce; arguments over who got to keep the candelabra and who got landed with the Japanese Peace Lilly. Him silently removing his wedding ring, me beating him over the head with his latest catch of salmon.

So as you can imagine, when the time finally came to actually meet this poor boy for our first date, I just… couldn’t. I mean, WE HAD BEEN THROUGH SO BLOODY MUCH TOGETHER ALREADY.

And frankly, quite frankly, I was still slightly smarting at him being allowed to keep the collection of Faberge eggs, when he KNOWS that they are my favourite and he NEVER REALLY WANTED TO BUY THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.

More to come…

G x