Modest Mango

For a good ten minutes today, I genuinely thought to myself how great it would be if I was a woman since that would increase my chances of marrying HFW. For some reason, Channel 4 has removed my two go-to shows for dinner time 4od viewing – BBT and HIMYM (man, I’m really feeling those cuts now). I have since been methodically watching through the current season of River Cottage. I love the way HFW thinks almost as much as I love the way he pronounces certain words, like "lemon".

I’m insanely jealous that Johnston has actually been to the canteen and I also have a massive craving for a sausage stew (it’s 2 in the morning right now). Like me, you may also be wondering what the logical conclusion of this post is, and it is probably this picture:

The following is a semitrue account of a journey to Auckland.

Sun 18.01 (NZDT) Drip drying Stevie Currie style… How did it come to this?

Sat 07.18 (GST) Jesus Christ I hate Dubai airport. If Heathrow is a sea of shit then Dubai International is a perfectly straight river of shit. Well I lie, I quite like how easy DBX is to navigate. It’s just the disciples of duty-free relentlessly forcing Bombay Saphire and Johnny Walker into my face for all of the 2,500 yards to the gate. I thought I was going to end up giving in and buying some Ferragamos or some shit.

It’s all good though. Nineteen hours and I’ll take my socks off, crunching my toes on the carpet in my Auckland accommodation. I really like doing this: (1) after flying; (2) when revising for exams. I’m pretty sure it’s from a film. What film… Whatever, the shower is also going to be epic. Goddamnit, did I pack my Head&Shoulders? I’m sure I forgot something.

Friday 06.30 (GMT) Got a bus ride into hospital with the Mancs… I’ll miss these cretins. Better remember to repack my Head&Shoulders. Good I remembered that. Won’t be able to buy any when I arrive on Sunday. I can’t believe Burrows embraces this country’s structural loafishness on Sundays… I bet Gordon Gekko doesn’t take breaks on Sundays.

Sun 16.23 (NZDT) This is bananas. Can’t believe supermarkets are open until midnight here. Burnage Tesco would have shut up shop thirty minutes ago. We are losing to a country which has shops advertising Tip Tops. I have not seen a Tip Top since approximately 1998. They’re not even frozen Tip Tops.

Sun 16.24 (NZDT) Hot NZ girl spotted in supermarket. Great cans. Think I’ll get chopped tomatoes too.

Sun 08.23 (AEST) No hot girls spotted yet in Brisbane airport. Not a lot of people spotted yet in Brisbane airport. Could be worse though; could be in Manc.

Fri 13.21 (GMT) There are a lot of unattractive people on this bus. Even for Manchester.

Fri 13.40 (GMT) Toothpaste, inhalers, toothbrush, montelukast, shampoo, soap, towe… Yeah whatever, I probably have all these things.

Sun 16.45 (NZDT) Reenergise and rewaterise with Mountain Dew. Then have my shower.

Sat 7.56 (GST) So sweaty… Can’t wait to wash…

Sun 17.25 (NZDT) Motherfucker… Forgot towel.

Sun 18.01 (NZDT) At least it’s a good view from my room for drip drying. And it’s not like I could mistake that skyline for any other city either!

Continuing the epic cake theme on this page was this beast…

My mother is not a sentimental person. She is, in fact, a very no nonsense, pragmatic kind of person. However, there is one thing about her that does not make any sense.

About five years ago, Nigel was given a "Happy birthday Nigel" chocolate statue of Dougal from The Magic Roundabout. I’m pretty sure Nigel has never seen The Magic Roundabout before, but that’s besides the point. The point is that Nigel has never opened the chocolate Dougal and it has taken up a 5"x6"x10" space in our fridge for the past five years. It remains in the fridge not because of Nigel but because of my mum. Anytime you mention throwing the chocolate Dougal away, she will literally snap at you and warn you not to. She provides, quite literally, no explanation for this whatsoever, and I’m pretty sure my mum has never seen The Magic Roundabout before, but that’s besides the point. The point is that my mum is mental.

On the drive home from the airport, I looked out of the window and I saw the moon. I was surprised to see the moon and thought to myself, "Hey, that’s odd. The moon is still there." And then I realised that when the moon exploded, it was just a dream.

Location: 299 Palatine Road, Manchester

Food: So after twenty-three hours of great scran in Glasgow I thought I better talk up the restaurants in Manchester. After all, the Mancs also have some game, the best of which I only discovered recently – Shiraz.

Shiraz is a Persian restaurant in the Northenden area. Like Northenden the exterior aesthetics of Shiraz don’t rouse the best of initial impressions. Inside looks like it is the imagined boudoir of someone from Wythenshawe; someone from Wythenshawe who’s really into Indiana Jones movies…. Sadly, also like inside the head of someone from Wythenshawe, Shiraz is pretty empty. Devoid of activity. I don’t know why. The decor is actually pretty quirky and interesting, the staff really friendly, and the food is legitimately some of the tastiest I have had in Manchester. For starter my special lady had kofteh, I sprung for a warm aubergine dip. These were served with freshly baked flatbreads, wrapped in a tassled and torn tea towel. I’ve had kofteh before. It was dry, unsatisfying and the stew was just like canned tomatoes. The kofteh at Shiraz was rich and thick and moreish; the ball was big and juciy and tender. The aubergine dip was pretty ‘gid’ too.

The mains were similarly stellar. Lamb city. Anything with lamb… Goes down well with lots of mint tea too.

Price: starter + main + mint tea (refills) + baklava around £20

Website: it doesn’t have one… Come on!

Burr: 4