Things I Would Never Blog

It was some sort of school open day. I was wandering around in my school uniform. I’m sure I was supposed to be doing something important, but for some reason I was passing by the Main Hall.

The school was built on a gentle slope. There were two ways into the Main Hall, both involving descending a flight of about eight narrow steps. The alternative was to go around the outside of the school and through the Fire Exit. That was the official wheelchair access to the Main Hall.

At the top of one of these flights of steps was a man in a wheelchair. He may have had a white pony tail.

Until I hit about 16 and started going to the gym, I was never a particularly beefy kid. I was the lanky one whose arms were widest at the elbow. Yet somehow I felt obliged to help this man in a wheelchair, who was aligned perfectly with these steps, staring longingly ahead. I offered my services, and the fool accepted. Evidently I gave the impression that I had done something like this before, and was a qualified wheelchair handler.

I co-opted the services of another kid. He was a couple of years younger than me, and not really a wise choice. He was short and round, and was probably the only person in the school with less muscular fortitude than myself. I think he had some sort of chronic heart problem, and had spent half of his life in hospital.

I took the handlebars, and other kid took the front of the wheelchair to stabilise it. At this point things went downhill.

The intention was to drop by one step at a time, allowing the large rear wheels to fall into the right angle formed by the step and riser. I know now that I should have kept the centre of gravity between the two points of contact. I didn’t know this at the time.

The chair pitched forwards sharply. Other kid was powerless, and watched as the man’s face passed him by. At no point did he even touch this wheelchair. I immediately transferred all of my energies to pulling this wheelchair back, to hold it in place. Perhaps I could have held it, but probably not.

Things could have been really bad, I suppose. The wheelchair could have rolled down the stairs like O J Simpson did in the Naked Gun, and at the bottom either the guy would have fallen forwards out of it, or sat there giving me evil eyes. But I guess my name was at the top of the Miracle Allocation Register that day, and from nowhere a member of staff appeared in front of me and substituted himself in place of Other Kid.

Stability returned. The man in the wheelchair made it safely to the bottom.

EPILOGUE: Later in the evening, I bumped into the man in the wheelchair again. I sheepishly smiled apologetically. He beamed back, and I felt a lot better.

Every six months I remember this incident, and bite my fist in anguish. Maybe now I’ve shared it, I can finally be free of my burden.

Ewan Food Guidance

Cook With Ewan – CheeseOnToast++

cook with ewanThe most important thing to know about CheeseOnToast++ is that it is ++. You must know this. You must believe this. You must understand this. You must live this.

So make sure that all your apparatus is dirty. Those pork steaks two days ago were gorgeous, weren’t they? So don’t wash up the baking tray – take advantage of all those lovely porky juices just begging to be recycled. ((Important! Cooking with dirty utensils is dangerous and will kill you. Only attempt it if you are a shark and spend your entire life swimming around in human excrement anyway.))

Brown some bread on one side.

Toasted on one side

Golden brown, every time. Golden brown, my little Sharkitechts. That’s the key to good toast.

Then put some tomato puree on, and spread it nice and thin. You can see those nice dirty porkjuice stains everywhere. Mmmm.

Tomato puree goes on

Pesto! Yes, I told you, my remoradoring fans, this is CheeseOnToast++!

Pesto goes on

Slop on a teaspoonful and spread it about. And only then is it time for the cheese. Try and mix a couple of varieties – Cheddar with Red Leicester is a particularly good choice, as the yellow and orange contrast nicely. I used Cheddar and Cathedral City today.

Cheese goes on

Back into the grill with you. Make sure you handle that tray with oven gloves, especially if you are a fluffy shark.

Back in the oven

Season to taste, SharkFins. Some pepper and green flakey things called herbs. I don’t put too many of them on, partly because of the pesto that is already in place, but also partly because I am a carnivore and only eat meat.


Every single meal that you ever create should be served with a pork pie garnish. Remember that. It’s very important. I’ve also drizzled some olive oil over the CheeseOnToast++, just to make it gooier.

On the plate, with a pork pie

CheeseOnToast++, like all meals that can be eaten onehanded, should be enjoyed whilst leaning over a balcony / verandah / snake pit / politician’s wife.

Fiction Peril

A short story about lunch

It happened somewhere around what he thought was Poland. While planning his round-the-world trip, he hadn’t made any sort of contingency plan for implementation in the eventuality that he faced a huge red plastic wall.

But it was all perfectly clear now. He’d been standing on top of a sandwich all along. How can he have failed to realise this? If only he’d stood back once in a while, and looked at the bigger picture. The enormous apple to his left. The tough, gargantuan thermos flask behind him. It all made sense now.

“If only I’d known sooner,” he thought to himself. “I would have lived my life with more virtue.”

But it was too late now. The lunchbox closed over his head, and there was darkness.

Food Photos

A gratuitous photo of some spaghetti bolognaise, intended to induce drooling in those who are hungry and would enjoy eating it

spaghetti bolognaise


My Problem

My problem is that I am bad at keeping plants alive.

In my flat, I generally find that cut flowers outlast a pot plant. This is something that gives me a lot of grief. Why am I so bad at telling when soil is wet or dry? It makes no sense.

And then tonight it came to me. I’m not really actually bad at looking after pot plants. It’s all really to do with my low boredom threshold.

Y’see, I don’t want the same foliage to exist in my flat for more than a week. I want it to change. So the only way to ensure this is to kill it. Murder. Assassination.

Die, plants. Die.


3 Really Ace Things To Say After Sex

1. *By the power of Grayskull!*
2. *Sorry.*
3. *You’ve caught me on a bad week, actually. It’s normally much better than this.* ((This quote stolen with absolutely no remorse from Mike‘s tagline.))