Brazoria County Flu

The food you hate debate

There’s a Mr Bean sketch – you know Mr Bean, you must do, he’s the comedy character on British TV who offends literally everyone, including his own teddy… – where he’s in a restaurant and he gets given a plate of meat which is clearly some kind of a delicacy. Anyway, he hates it, and spends the whole 30 minute episode trying to get rid of the meat in various ways. Hiding it in a vase, stuffing it in a lady’s hand-bag, etc…

Now, this may sound highly abstract, but I’ve found myself in a similar situation before at various dinner parties…and I mean the kind of awful situation which is not funny in any way. The kind that there is no escape from…although I will say that I was never awful enough to stuff raw meat in a stranger’s hand-bag.

The last time it happened at a friend-of-a-friend’s house, Octopus was on the menu. Not raw, cooked. The host was a guy who was getting really into experimenting with crazy new food. We? I suppose you could say that we were the guinea pigs…

Anyway. The point is that sometimes I think it’s alright to put your hand up and say you’re uncomfortable about eating something. I mean…why does it always have to be such a big deal? I know it can be offensive to someone, but I wouldn’t go to an art exhibition and look at bottles of Pantene gold-leafed unless I wanted to – which I wouldn’t – so why should I eat things which make me want to throw up?

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Being Barbara

Being called “Barbara” is a strange thing, let me tell you. And I would know, wouldn’t I? I’ve been one all my life, so almost nobody else on Earth is in a better position to tell you about this than me.

And it’s hard sometimes, oh it is hard. There are two main things I despise about being called the B word, and they are as follows:

1) Without even asking first, some deranged people think it’s perfectly acceptable to call me “Babs”. Now, to anyone out there who is one of these people, or sympathises with these people, let me tell you now that there is nothing acceptable about being called this hideous “name”. For one thing it sounds a lot like baps, which is a product made out of bread, and for another thing…well, as I said before, it’s absolutely horrible. Leave it, leave it now.

2) Barbara Windsor shares my name. Ugh. So yeah, that was just about okay before, but now look at her! She’s on TV doing her ridiculous bingo adverts with all her nut butters friends. Which is terrible if you’re me, because every so often someone comes up to you and does the same laugh as Barbara Windsor does in that advert (you must know the one: it’s where she has her boobs all pushed up looking like a right old trollop).

3) It just isn’t the nicest name in the world, really. I’d much more have preferred Sarah or something, but there you go, I suppose it could be worse: I could have been named Tracy Meldreth Boon Stevens instead, right?

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