Tea and cakes and things I like

I never used to like breakfast - I just couldn’t eat in the mornings. Recently I’ve come around to the most important meal of the day, and am quite fond of it.

I have a sweet tooth. I have been known to eat leftover dessert for breakfast (apple crumble is a particular favourite of mine). The fun of that lies in the fact that it’s not for every day. It’s an occasionaly treat, to be balanced out with weetabix or muesli and toast most days.

Above is a picture of the cereal on special offer in my local supermarket at the moment. Yep, you read it correctly: Chocolate(y) chip cookie cereal. I saw it quite a few people’s shopping trollies. There were quite afew kids heading towards obesity in the supermarket too. Hmmm, any connection I wonder?

Only in Japan of course, but a company has been selling cakes that look like burgers so that people who are embarrassed to be seen eating a cake in the street can do so, and fool everyone into thinking that they are eating fast food instead.
This is all wrong. It is not shameful to eat cake. In public, in private, with your friends, alone: there is no time when it is not acceptable to eat cake. (actually, I can probably think of a few, but you get my point).
I’d be more embarrassed to be seen eating a burger in public than a cake.
They do look quite clever though.

Another fantastic gig. She has an amazing voice, and is just, well, really sweet and down to earth. Add to that excellent company and a great venue (I do like Vicar St, it’s intimate but not squished up), and it was a wonderful night.

I do however have a few messages for the good people in the audience.

1. To the people who insisted on clapping along to everything:
Some songs just aren’t suited to clapping - the quiet, melodic ones for example. Please shut up. Also, if you do insist on bashing your hands together to make noise over the performance, do you think that possibly, maybe, next time you could try to do it in time with the music? Maybe if you practise really, really hard before she comes to play again.

2. To the lady who sat next to me:
You smelled. I suspect this was down to your bulk. I recommend purfume, or a better deodorant. Also, if I happen to be sat next to you again, please keep your fat ass on your seat, not mine. I appreciate I’m not the largest person in the world so may not have been using the whole space, but really, it’s just not polite.

3. To the audience members who felt that they were having an open conversation with Beth Orton, and could tell the punchline to her jokes, heckle her, and generally behave like arses whenever she stopped to re-tune her guitar:
Seriously, show some respect. There’s a bit of banter between the performer and the audience, and then there’s just acting like pricks. You were the latter. You’re not funny. I don’t want to hear you.

4. To the woman sat behind me, singing:
I did not pay to hear you sing. You aren’t that good. Yes, I recognise that you know all the words - so do I, it’s not that hard. I don’t want to hear you sing. If I want to hear badly sung Beth Orton I can create my own performance in the comfort of my own home. If you have such a burning desire to perform, get a fucking record deal. Oh, sorry, what’s that you say? You can’t? Because you’re shit? Yes, that’s what I suspected.

Anyway, those are my messages. Just little things really, I had a fantastic night overall.