This Standard Scottish Life

Emboldened by several kirs I marched into the skip shop and demanded, Qu’est ce le mot pour ceci?  as I pulled at the waistband of CKs.  Unperturbed by me flashing my pants the assistant said, Les sous vetements.  I am not happy.  Sous vetements is not the word (or two) I am look for.   Sous vetements is surely only used to describe old men’s string vests and long johns?

My French is so poor that I am too scared and embarrassed to enquire further with a French person as to the word I am looking for, so I seek out our friendly Canadian bar man, Jean to ask him the right word.  We like Jean.  He keeps the Happy Hour running beyond Happy Hour for us and is mostly bilingual. 

Girls pants?  Like panties?

Yes, like these.  I flash the CKs again.

He reaches for his iPhone.   We saw him look up French words on his iPhone the other day.  He’ll surely tell me the word.

But oh no.  Jean turns around and asks the other bar staff.  The French bar staff.  No! Don’t ask them.  That’s what I want to avoid.  Asking the French people.

There is some discussion.  

There is some sniggering.

Le string? says the other barman.

No, no, no.  Not Le String.  

I am mortified.  

My face is bright red.  

I am clearly going to have to drop my skiing trousers.

Non. Comme ça.    Demonstrating that my CKs are all encompassing.

Ah … la culotte.

Culotte?

Oui ou le parachute.

Parachute?

More sniggering.

Parachute is the word for big pants for the les grandes femmes.

Other vocabulary learned 

partager – to share.  Useful to know when presented with a HUGE creme brule

casque de ski  - ski helmet.  Useful to have on head when careering downhill avec grandes vitesse.

I like porridge.  I like porridge a lot.  I like it coz it’s one of the few things I can cook well.  I can also cook bacon rolls, a medium rare steak and fresh tomato sauce quite well.  Pretty nifty on the deep fried Mars Bar too.  I hardly starve.

So I eat porridge every weekday for breakfast. No porridge consumed on the weekend unless cycling is required.

I also eat Stoatie Bars lots too. They’re kinda like hard porridge but with bits in them like macadamia nuts, raspberries, goji berries (yuch to healthy).

Sometimes I get oaty biscuits as snacks.

Porridge, oats, oatmeal.  Yum.

And now there is porridge soap.  And of course I have some.  It’s vegan don’t you know but not so good to eat.

[Note to the non-Britishers: when we say pants here we do not mean trousers we mean underwear.  You know, as in PANTS.]

But they are a ridiculous colour! says Le Chef when I ask him why he hasn’t worn his Christmas Pants yet.

The Yule Pants were a very thoughtful gift from me and I am a little put out that they haven’t had an outing yet.  

Colour of these pants is no reason not to wear them especially given that he wore purple … yes, PURPLE nylon y-fronts when I first met him.  

His new fair trade, organic cotton pants are only mildly electric blue.  

Well, they are in fact very very electric blue.  

But they are nice and they have wings on the back.  

Yes they do.  

They have wings.  

No! Not those sorts of wings!  

Wings like an angel.  

Well not quite.  

But almost.

Likewise I have a pair of similar Yule Pants for Grrls.  

But mine are very very electric red.  

With wings on the back.  

But smaller wings.

Obv!

Buy these pants and save the world from … eh sensible underwear.

Is it safe? I whisper to Le Chef.

I think so.  Let’s go now.

We get up toute d’suite and run, run, run to the supermarket to get supplies for the week.

Hurry up Le Chef, hurry up.  Some of them might come out early.  Quick.

We zoom round the supermarket and scurry home, close the door and lock it.  We are safe.

This scene occurs every Sunday morning at Chez nous.  The bells of that hulking great scaffold covered cathedral on Palmerston Place toll to advise the Christians to get on the pews for their weekly soul saving.  But given that Scottish Christians are just as lazy as Scottish agnostics / anaesthisists atheistists atheists / trainee buddhists, they leave getting to the church on time til the last moment.  This means the streets are unsafe as Christian cars career towards places of worship.   One must time ones shopping accordingly and only venture out between the calling to church bells and the get oot your saved for another week but please try be good and not do that thing that you know you shouldn’t do and don’t shout at the telly either coz that’s not nice exit bells.

If you do not live within earshot of christian bells I recommend you do your shopping online otherwise you may meet your maker while merely trying to procure your Sunday luncheon.

Wot we spent on buying food:

The store cupboard becomes bare.  Supplies required.  It’s off to the supermarket we go.

£19.03 Total so far for this week £19.03 and overall Project Frugal £47.94

Wot we bought:

Wot we ate:

• cappuccino
• OJ
• 2 slices of toast
• bratwurst sandwich
• exotic drink of lemon, grenadine and sugar
• roast squash, potato salad, mushy peas (yum), bratwurst
• exotic drink adapted into amazing cure for the cold: lemon, sugar, hot water, ibuprofen

Reflections on frugality

I grow weary of Project Frugal but forge on regardless [sigh].

Wot we spent on buying food:

£0.99 Total so far for Project Frugal £28.91. Le Chef continues to go his own way on his extravagant lunches.  

Wot we bought:

Wot we ate:

• OJ
• Cappuccino
• porridge
• cheese, jamon and lettuce sandwich and three tomatoes
• water and lots of it
• tea and biscuit (free at The Architect’s House.  I have become increasingly confident at just inviting myself around to friend’s house as a means of keep the project’s outgoings down.  If I arrive at your house unexpectedly you’ll know what to do).
• huge feed at the Chinese restaurant (expenses for the eating out are not part of Project Frugal)
• a million chocolate eclairs

Reflections on frugality

Week 1 of Project Frugal is over and I believe twas moderately successful.  We spent a grand total of £28.91 on food all week, although I expect the truth is closer to £50 due to Le Chef’s expensive sandwiches that he doesn’t tell me about.

Still, savings could be made.  There’s no need to be buying huge meringues, chocolate eclairs, cola and sandwiches for lunch.  Tea and Sympathy was an extravagance but a necessary one.  I reckon you could get it down to about £20.

Oh dear, oh dear.  Off the wagon already.   This is no good.

Wot we spent on buying food:

£3.98 Total so far for Project Frugal £13.17

Wot we bought:

Wot we ate:

• bacon sarnie & fried egg sarnie
• OJ
• Cappucino
• a peculiar meal of rice and something else which seemed to be vegetables and tasted a bit vinegary to me.  When I went into the kitchen later I saw the aftermath of the preparations for the peculiar meal.  The aftermath did not shine any light on what my tea was but there were big knives everywhere and a wok and vinegar.  While making our tea I can only think that Le Chef was distracted by The Archers or some shouty politician on Radio 4.
• green tea
• water
• huge meringue (mine was raspberry)
• Le Chef seemed to also eat an alarming number of Hershey Kisses without offering any to me.  But I don’t care coz Hershey Kisses are evil.  And I believe they have a laxative effect.  That’ll teach him!

Reflections on frugality

I am dozing in bed. It’s nearly time to get up. And then a pain. A terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE pain in my chest. A searing, stinging, ripping pain. It’s obvious to me that I am having a heart attack.

Quick, get the crash cart!

I am fading away. Away. I see a white light. I’m gone.

But no. I miraculously recover. My cardiac arrest subsides. And then I realise that the terrible, terrible pain in my chest was not due to blockage of my coronary arteries but in fact due to my very recently exercised, really quite delicate, new found, pectoral muscles ripping.

The exercise Nazi personal trainer at the gym decided that it was time that I did some strength training on my upper body. I had to go on evil weight machines that just plain hurt. My muscles hurt very bad and they hurt even worse now that I have ripped them. Women don’t need to have biceps and triceps and pecs and deltoids coz that’s why we have men. Men are there to have arm muscles to carry the laydeez shopping. Oh yes, and also men are useful for the cooking, like Le Chef. And I’m sure they are useful for other things but I can’t remember quite what.

When I was 13 I was obsessed with James Herbert books, netball, kissing boys, dungarees and …. eh … Rush. Tonite while footering around on Demonoid I thought I’d download an evaluation copy of Rush’s timeless classic 2112 (I found the LP in my brother’s room along with Quark, Strangeness and Charm and Mother Focus).

Hmmm …..having listened to 2112 tonight I kinda get why I loved it so much. It’s tuneful. It’s rock. They play their instruments well. They used lots of technology. But it’s quite …. well … very, very … it’s infact ….. monsterous Cheese! And another thing …. listening to Rush lead me to waste my time reading Ayn Rand’s Anthem and to hide in my bedroom practicing furiously on my guitar till I could play the opening to The Trees flawlessly with neither flair nor passion.

Fortunately I was soon to rescued from Rush by punk (TY Siouxsee and Joe) and teenage fumblings.

….. we have assumed control

….. We Have Assumed Control

… WE HAVE ASSUMED CONTROL

Where’s that Nelly Furtado song that I like ?