The London Underground has long been considered the eighth wonder of the world. There is something truly beautiful about being fired through a dingy subterranean tunnel in a creaky grime-encrusted tube made of tin, is there not?
It’s pancake day today, so because of something to do with shroves and Easter bunnies tonight’s dinner will be replaced by a special hysterical breakfast of fried-food, gallons of nutella and a smattering of artificial lemon juice. It’s the best day ever, is it not? It is. Here are 5 reasons why. Defy me at your peril.
- TOPPINGS. So many toppings. Peanut butter and CHOCOLATE and marshmallows and SPRINKLES and BACON. Ok maybe not bacon. Bacon’s a bit weird.
- Pancake flipping. The national sport that never was. Try a flip later, and watch as you combust with excitement when the pancake lands, half mangled, onto the side of your frying pan. You’ll never see such jubilation again, I promise you that.
- LENT. Pancake day is officially the start of lent, which is when we all have to give up chocolate because JESUS WANTS US TO. A perfect chance to rebel against society. Jesus doesn’t give a toss whether you eat chocolate or not anyway. Move on with your life.
- CALORIES. They do not EXIST on pancake day. Watch as the masses hurl KILOS of sugar in the vague direction of their gobs. LOOK at them as they SMOTHER themselves in gloopy golden syrup. And REJOICE! There’ll be no calories here today.
- DINNER IS BREAKFAST. Why isn’t dinner always breakfast, when it causes such JOY? Could there ever be a time when dinner was breakfast? Is it possible? It might be.
Have you ever attempted to wander down a London street without being assaulted by one of those sandwich shops they call Pret? Probably not. Which is for the best really, because it can’t be done.
Like a malignant odour, this faux-French chain has spread through our streets, devouring entire stretches of roads and turning entire boroughs into naught but ideas factories for madcap products like a half-full plastic pot of spinach and cold egg. That actually exists. Look.
Pret sells freakish foodstuffs that no normal person would even consider having for lunch, with the conceited confidence that screams of unsoundness of mind.
Mere moments ago I found myself battling through a haze of suits in an attempt to secure a suitable lunch in a box, and amidst the riot I found all sorts of peculiar objects.
On one shelf was a bar flavoured exclusively with ‘LOVE’. A small wooden crate housed popcorn which was both sweet and salty – a bag of snack food showing blatant disregard for the laws of physics. And those needing something to wash it all down could visit the fridge for a frighteningly green smoothie which I fear must have been made out of the mashed up hopes and dreams of Janaury’s detoxers.
Mystifying products aren’t the most troublesome thing about Pret, however. The thing that really perturbs me about this tragically popular sandwich empire is their staff, their DISTURBINGLY DELIGHTED STAFF.
Why are they always so PLEASED? Their smiles stretch so far across their faces that speech presents a real risk that they might accidentally gobble up their own EARS. It’s quite bizarre. Are they just people who really love sandwiches, or could it be something more sinister?
Want to know the worst thing? I’ve been to Pret for lunch every day this week. For the last two days I’ve bought the same thing. A lack of originality so astounding I’m embarrassed to speak of it.
Within spitting distance of my office are FOUR whole Prets. There’s a Pret in EVERY DIRECTION. I can barely leave the building without an overpriced bar of over-friendly gibberish finding its way into my sweaty clutches. I don’t stand a chance.
There’s a bit of a hoo-har going on about the Winter Olympics currently, because it seems the powers that be have decided to host it in a sort of James Bond style danger-land, complete with bloodthirsty gangs straight out of Hostel and actual terrorist attacks.
It’s easy to see why the Winter Olympics is being held in this petrifying freezer of doom, though, because if it wasn’t we probably wouldn’t have noticed it happening at all.
I’m not sure why, or how, but a fuzzy-headed feline they call the ‘cat’ appears to have taken over the entire INTERNET lately, and it’s about time someone put a stop to this constant barrage of moggie-based gibberish because the cat isn’t even a NICE thing it’s an absolute BASTARD.