Scottish Field’s online columnist Brash McKelvie shares their bucket list of irritations.
Here are the cast of characters that share the vicissitudes of life:
Scragend – a Rhode Island Red of indeterminate age and foul nature.
Shitting Cat – does exactly what it says on the tin.
The Beloved – a paragon of virtue and a self-appointed critic of most of my thoughts and actions.
Snr and Jnr Orifice – our fledged offspring.
Draw up a seat and share a small selection from my bucket list – not the normal bucket list, not the normal ‘cuddle a penguin before I slope off into the sunset, bucket list.
Nope, this is a bucket list for those destined to frequent the outer circles of hell. Obviously the inner circle is chock full of all those culprits who have perpetuated unspeakable acts of cruelty and villainy. The outer circle is just uncomfortably hot, with the occasional jab in the jacksie by highly spirited daemons whilst Celine Dion is playing on a never ending loop.
Let’s start with anyone left on the planet that still takes pictures of food prior to eating it. No one is slightly interested in the workings of your digestive system and we as much want to see the pre-ingested state of your energy source as we would want to see the end result of same. Put the phone down and stop it.
Next – golfers and home bakers – no real reason just the insufferable smugness of it all. Anyone over two year of age that uses ‘yum, yum yum or yummy’ to describe their appreciation of a food, a thing, or indeed a person. As for ‘nom, nom, nom’….. no, enough, just cut it out. It’s infantile.
Disparaging young people. I have heard, so many times, the older generation complain about the lack of respect shown by today’s youth. This is the same older generation who do not acknowledge when a youngster holds a door open for them, or steps aside to the let them enter a room first or does not interrupt a story that has been told many times before. Respect needs to be encouraged and rewarded and reinforced by example. So stop moaning and say thank you.
Restaurants that serve food on anything but crockery. It’s neither ironic, hip nor quirky. If I wanted to eat my food from roofing material I would have taken myself off for a light luncheon in one of the hardware aisles of Jewsons or Rembrands. Furthermore do not think for one minute that we are not wise to the fact that by serving chips in miniature deep fat frying baskets you get away with serving fewer chips per portion. We don’t care that they have been once, twice, thrice fried, our minds are screaming ‘ so few chips in tiny cages – so much price’.
And finally, not really – I could go on for days, food pomposity. There should be a hospital ward for those poor glassy eyed souls who pass into a state of catatonia on perusing the menu issued from some culinary temple dedicated to the engrandisment of ingredients. You can take provenance too far you know. Follow this up by a waiter, propounding at length on the chosen course as he/she/they deliver it; ‘Eer we ‘ave (No I have fella – not unless you are going to split the bill with me) essence of duck gizzard on a smattering of seaweed sputum flavoured with oilbas inhaler.
Enjoy’. I know this, my memory is not so shot that I have lost all track of what I ordered 15 minutes ago. Go on, sod off – formerly an orderly queue behind the sign Jacksies Jabbed. Scragend has vacated the woodshed for pastures new, but her venom towards life in general permeates the shed.
I wonder if I have absorbed it by osmosis? Served with a green cucumber jus on a trowel. Mayhaps.