Tag Archives: Tea

Tomatoes, Tea & The Most Disgusting Thing I’ve Done Since Saturday.


First of all I’d like to find out if anyone else knows what the fuck is wrong with the bakeries in Berlin. Half a slice (that’s right, half a slice. As in a thin semi-circle of tomato) is not enough for a baguette. And, on a similar subject, four inch-thick cuts of cucumber (four slices at an inch each, not one slice at four inches. That would be thicker than the baguette, you fool) is far too much to be in the same baguette. It’s just not fucking cricket. I want the vitamins in the tomato. I’m ill (physically ill not Beastie Boys ill) and I’m trying to be responsible about it but staying in bed and eating healthy things but sometimes I feel like the bakery by my house just want’s me to die from a fibre and cucumber overdose. And while we’re at it, sort your fucking cheese out. What you sell isn’t cheese, Germany. It’s just thin slices of stiff milk. Also your crisps suck and paprika isn’t a proper flavour and it’s called a bell pepper not a paprika.

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Fingerslamming – The Miles Lloyd Way


Guess what I’m having right now? I’m having tea in a mug that says “Maryland Cookies” and I’m having it with a Kit-Kat because fuck the rules. That’s because why. That’s because why? Hmmm… I think I may be broken.

Jokes. I’m not broken. I’m better than ever because I can now play The Lovecats on they keyboard, which sounds just like a piano, and if that doesn’t get the ladies lining up I don’t know what will. I do know a roofie guy as a back-up plan though.

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Thatcher’s Dead and The Hippies Thrive. There Truly is No God.


Thatchers dead. There we go. This whole thing feels like one big anti-climax. I have been a member of a Facebook group for about five years which was called “Let’s All Jump on Margaret Thatchers Grave” and it was just in anticipation for when she died. Things like this made me expect street parties and stuff, you know? Like the Royal Wedding day. Everyone just pissed in the streets and partying hard but instead of pretending to be interested in a couple of inbred newlyweds it would be an orgy of genuine emotions and heartfelt sincerity.

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Two Cups of Tea & I’m Still Not a Belieber


That’s right. I just drank two cups of tea in twenty minutes and I’m not even impressed with myself. If anything I have let myself down. I need to be punished. For every cigarette I smoke today I will burn my arm with it once until I learnt o man the fuck up when it comes to drinking tea. Though I very, very rarely drink more than two cups of tea in twenty minutes.  then I get all full up on tea and lazy. Plus sometimes that much milk makes me feel sick, so if I was going to put cigarettes out on my arm every time I failed to drink more than two cups of tea every twenty minutes it would be loss than a week before I was nothing but a leathery, burn, scared mess of a human, covered in weeping sores and terrifying myself every time I lit a fag, and that is not how I want to live my life.

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How to Suck the Fun Out of Tea-Making; A lesson in Life.


I got up at quarter-past seven this morning today. Quarter-past fucking seven. In the morning. “You must be mad!” You may say to yourselves. How do I know? Because that’s just what I thought. Until now…

You can get so much done! This morning I’ve already devised a plan to steal all of the oil off of America, using a V-reg Nissan Micra with over-inflated tires as a getaway vehicle AND invented gloves that are just the finger  bits AND tweeted PETA about how they are allowed to date cats but I’m not allowed fuck dogs. All before ten! And I had a cup of tea. And had a peanut butter Kit-Kat Chunky. And a fag. What have you done? Nothing, probably. Fucking student bum.

Fucking PETA.

Fucking PETA.

It all just got very fancy! I’m at my mates office and some people have come in for an important meeting. They’re talking about phones at the moment in a dying quest for some ‘getting-to-know-you’ banter.

They just made me make them tea and coffee. It was a truly awful experience. They were whipping me with chains and laughing, “Hahaha!” They would laugh, “Hahaha! Make tea, monkey! Tea!” At one point they had me in the corner, weeping in the fetal position whilst they spat and continued their heckles. I was bleeding quite badly from a gash on the hip and it was one of the only times I’ve been grateful I’ve already had my front teeth knocked out. Then the kettle boiled and they threw the water at me. I screamed in agony and they started shouting “Where’s the tea?! Where’s the tea, monkey?!” I explained that I’d have to boil more water and it would be five minutes and they stole my shoes. I begged and begged for them to return my shoes as all my other pairs are back in Wales. They did give them back, but not before burning off the laces and soiling the innards.

They were very polite when I did finally them tea, though. But then I remembered I forgot the coffee…

SCENE.