Blimey, some kooky history nuts dig up the bones of Richard III and everyone goes crazy and tells them they're brilliant, but when I discover the bones of Richard II and dig them up and try to recreate a mask of his face using his skull I get arrested. It's double standards. Admittedly I was subjecting the skellington to a slightly unorthodox DNA test, where I deposited some of my own DNA into the skull and then tried to see if it was a match by rubbing it in (it turned out to blend in well, suggesting that I am related to royalty) the staff at Westminster Abbey went nuts. It's because they are religions and I was using science, I suppose.
No, it's not a cumpkin, it's a cumking.
Anyway, on more important matters. I am in a porridge quandary. As you may know I nearly always have porridge for breakfast. It's slow-release carbohydrate and it fills you up for the morning and it's lush with some berries in it. If you'd married me you could have been getting a bowl of my special porridge every day (this time I am not using this as a euphemism for semen - I know, it's a confusing world, but to be honest a bowl of semen would be too much for almost anyone's needs and take more than a day to make). It is my speciality. I have become quite picky about which porridge oats I use. My favourite is
Scott's Porage because the time they have saved by not learning how to spell porridge they have dedicated to producing the finest oats (again oats here, no euphemism). I also like their dedication to the company image of the bekilted vest wearing shot putter. I remember him well from childhood. He's much more manly and attractive than that
stupid fucking Quaker. I don't want to eat porridge and turn into a grey-wigged big hatted smug puritan, I want to be a hard Scotchman, running out of the house without putting my shirt on so I can chuck a bit metal ball across a glen. After a good decade of eating porridge on a mainly daily basis I have got no closer to that dream.
The Proustian childhood memories of the box are one of the things that draw me to it, but I also prefer the oats. Quaker ones are a bit too dusty and small. And Scott's have an "old-fashioned oats" variety with decent sized chunky oats. These make the best porridge or porage. A few weeks ago when I did the weekly shop though they only had Scott's new-fangled small oats. I was low on porridge so had to buy a box. I was reluctant. Even the Scott's small oats are not as good as the big ones (though still way better than the Quaker ones which have been run through a religious machine that removes all the fun from them).
A couple of days later I was in a different supermarket and they had the old-fashioned oats so I delightedly bought a box. But now I was in a quandary. How did I proceed at breakfast. Did I use up the small oats first, having a couple of weeks of inferior, slightly too gloopy and smooth porridge? Or did I eat the thick oated porridge first, falling back on to knowing that I would only be staving off the inferior porridge for another time? Or did I mix one cup of old fashioned oats with one cup of new oats as a compromise, creating a blend that had something of the gloopiness but something of the chunkiness? This compromise would mean I didn't have to endure two weeks of inferior porridge but it meant I would have four weeks of Coalition breakfast that wouldn't be quite as good. Two weeks of pleasure and two weeks of pain, or four weeks of meh? It was a hard call. I could just throw away the porridge I didn't like (it's only about two pounds a box) but years of eating porridge for breakfast and two years of living in Scotland have made me partly Scotch and so I couldn't countenance that kind of wastage of money.
I decided to go for the coalition breakfast, but it makes my heart sink a little every day when I think of the porridge based crime I am committing. Yet four weeks of compromise is better than having to endure the two weeks of weak porridge.
But this month is dragging and I have been tempted to have a day or two when I have the full strength brew, even if that would mean a couple of days where the inferior oats would have to be eaten alone. So I've taken the step of actually mixing the two boxes of porridge together in a tupperware container, which will stop me cheating, but I worry that the smaller oats will sink to the bottom giving me a last few days of mainly smooth porridge.
It's ruining my life.
If only I had stuck to my guns and refused to countenance buying the porridge I didn't like. Compromise is a terrible thing.
There's a hidden message to this blog. It's not just about porridge, The porridge is symbolic of something else. Cleverer readers will have spotted that.
It's symbolic of semen.
The Talking Cock podcast is still in the queue at iTunes and has not yet been uploaded yet, but hopefully we'll get the go ahead in the next couple of days. I will certainly let you know when it's there. And it will also appear on the British Comedy Guide for those of you who don't like Apple. Be patient my cock-obsessed pretties.
