On your phone, your computer, your ‘devices’ there’s always a facility for ‘sharing’. Like I’m doing with this photo. And that’s a good thing. Sharing photos is good. Sharing food is incitement to riot. Declaration of war. An act of aggression which WILL BE MET WITH FORCE!!!!

Everyone knows that ‘sharing plates’ at a restaurant is just a euphemism which actually means ‘buy 3 of them because there’s barely enough food on one plate to cover one tongue’. Sharing implies ‘big’ but in the world of modern food joints it means ‘a taster’. Unless its a Turkish food joint in which case it means ‘bring more people; the six of you will never finish this alone’. The Turks are right about that. If about not much else.

And so the pudding. The bread-and-butter pudding. Which I made. And I alone. In ‘my’ kitchen. Mel passed me the raisins. That was her ‘contribution’. Because I love bread-and-butter pudding and given any excuse I make one. And we had people coming to dinner, so I did. And also to show off my skills, demonstrate that beneath this total Tyson Fury-esque tough northern scumbag Gypsy racist exterior, there is a more thoughtful, more capable, more… wonderful! metrosexual polymath just lurking under the surface with his rolling pin and pinny, waiting to ‘create’!

But then people expect to share it. And its my fucking pudding. I fucking made it; iss mine!!!

And I needed the comfort that only food can bring. After the football. The terrible football. The awful, depressing, wrist-slitting, tear-inducing, head banging bloody football. Just as it started to resemble some kind of upturn in Tottenham’s season, just when, although both totally undeserved, we won 2 consecutive matches, just when the tragic curse of the sports fan, which is HOPE, returned, we lost 2 games. But it wasn’t the losses that irked (ok, it was just that in the Chelsea match) but the terrible way we played in both games. Very un-Spursy. Very defensive. Very tentative. Very bus-parky. We can always console ourselves during any tragic game that although we lost 17 nil, we played some really great football. No more. We play shit. We look lost. Oh God, I can feel another pudding coming on.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx