Last night was a pivotal moment in the whole pandemic world. Because Mel & I, after putting it off for almost an entire year, decided to go ‘the full British (in lockdown)’. We decided to get… a take-away!!! Holy shit, you think, we get those every day/twice a week/every Saturday/whatever, but you see, we don’t. We don’t in non-Covid and we didn’t start once it all went on, and on, and on. We’ve had about 3 in the last year. All Thai, from our fave little local place. Because Mel loves it and I’m happy just to support those smiling people.

It’s not a snob thing, not getting take-aways, its not a dietary consideration (heaven forbid), its just kind’a, under our radar. And also there are conceptual problems.

For me, the words ‘take away’ are just synonymous with ‘get a curry’. Why on earth would anyone ever eat anything else, given the option? Firstly, I love curry. Secondly, I love curry. Thirdly, I love chilli. Fourthly I love curry. And fifthly… there is no fifthly. It’s a horrible word to even say.

Mel doesn’t like curry. She hates chilli, pepper, paprika, anything ‘hot’. She wants ‘extra bland’, as Sanjeev Bhaskar once brilliantly put it. So we could order the ‘Heston Blumenthal take-away extravaganza’ for about 600 quid, then cook it ourselves (snail porridge won’t make itself, ya know!), or the ‘pretentious fucking eaterie special’ for 350 quid (including service). Or we could get a curry. For 20 quid. Hmmmm…

And Mel was IN! Every now and again, either due to the guilt of husband deprivation or perhaps its something lunar, she wants, or is prepared to eat, a curry. I was on the case before you could say ‘Uber eats’. And it was 20 quid, and it was a fucking feast. And wonderful. And because its so low in calories we washed it down with cold beers (what else), we had joined the British nation.

Then it got better. We ‘binged’. We actually watched 2 tv programs, like, one after the other. With only 3 stops to make tea and do wee-wees in between. I know, that’s not a ‘binge’ by normal standards, but we’re trying. And then… then we did some of the hardest jigsaw puzzling ever, to the accompaniment of Married at First Sight, Australia. Because for this puzzle, you need the inspiration which only tattooed Aussie morons can bring.

What a night! Fucking wild!!!!!

Happy (should be) hungover Sunday

A xxxx