Monday, March 29, 2010

tradition, clunges & shapes


English tradition hasn’t been fucked with since dinosaurs.

Probably because it’s so darn good.

For one, everyone talks about a ‘roast on Sunday,’ and in a serious way, like it's a protacted organisational event; not just lunch.

It's proper.
Had a few invites to this obligatory ‘roast on Sunday,’ where friends or family huddle together to eat the fuck out of a piece of bovine at someone’s house.

This roast they speak of is not just a meal, it’s an epic Sunday evening rite of passage into British life.

I’ve discovered roasts; the Brit discovered Watershed. (That Souf African band yeah)

He needed some new threads freads, so we headed over to Selfridges, which could bankrupt a person who is adverse to having public orgasms over fabric, which I am prone to do, like that one time in The Space in rosebank.

Friday we went to a show on the west End, a hip hop street dancing extravaganza, called Blaze.

Perhaps as a result, we wanted to be Puff Daddy, but what we started off as one drink afterwards, we ended up with me and the Brit cutting shapes in a basement club in Soho until the early hours.

Cutting shapes, dicing vegetables, cracking eggs open.

Realised I’ve been walking around with my skirt hitching up on my stockings, in that, the entirety of my derriere has been exposed, in a stockinged glory, to most of the public walking down the Albert Embankment on Saturday. I went to join some friends for some coffees on a very wet Thames riverbank, and my ass basically had it’s own party without me even knowing.

Saw Step Brothers (a Will Ferrel masterpiece) on Saturday over a bottle of Cote du Rhone – crisis on a Christmas cake, delicious – and I’d encourage you to see it based on this one line alone:

I want to roll you up into a little ball so you can live in my vagina…it’s warm….and cosy…..and when you move, and it tickles, I’ll know it’s your hair.

Another thing to watch is something called The Inbetweeners. A series about a twatty bunch of highsterical teenagers.

Who call a vajayjay a clunge.

I know there’s an entire glossary on the names of human genitalia, and this I have studied ad infinitum, however ‘clunge’ is something I can’t say I’ve heard before.

There was a stabbing in Victoris Station on Friday – was in the station when it happened, but never saw it. Apparently a chav in school uniform stabbed his classmate, and not once, repeatedly.

Headline news, can I just say.

5 comments:

Lil said...

Ahhh nothing like a chavy stabbing to start off your weekend.

Peas on Toast said...

Lil - how's this, they call stabbing 'shanking,' - and that's when you stab someone with a piece of broken glass or something and not an actual knife....heavy!

Lil said...

Iv got a true "papsak suiping gang-star" coloured mate from the real plain in ikapa whom preceeded to describe to me the usage of each one of his different knives he carries around with him, the butterfly for the gang'stus', the chefs knife for the 'skollies' and so forth, only to end with, and thees wuns for my friends.... i didnt ask any questions! Doh!

Peas on Toast said...

Nice! When weaponry becomes a hobby and has its own glossary then you know! :)

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