I'm not too sure about vegetarians. They may be stupid.

With their stupid dreadlocks, and stupid sandals, and stupid attitude about not eating one of the most delicious foods ever.  I arrogantly refuse to quantify that further.  But even more stupid, and we all know them and all hate them, are those that are 'vegetarian' but just eat chicken.  Well done you.  Now the cows are happy, and the lambs can frolic, and the pigs can roll around in shit to their hearts content.  All because you aren't eating them.  And all the while you are looking down on me from your pedestal of a toilet, with your healthy bowel movements, you know what I'm doing?  Eating your share of animal. Naked.

But what I don't understand is why, out of all the meats in the world, they choose to eat one of the blandest, most boring ones?  What's wrong with having a bit of blood to dip your chips into?  No one can resist the smell of bacon.  So instead of having bacon flavoured rashers of tofu, or whatever rubber concoction you eat instead, just have bacon.  You're only going to comment on how good it smells when I cook it, so goddamn well eat it.  If I were to ever be a proper grown-up (unlikely), and hold a sophisticated dinner party, the only dietary requirements I would take into account would be 'I'm afraid I only eat raw beef', or 'Sorry, I'm vegetarian - however I will eat monkey'.

Being a carnivore is no easy ride though.  There are so many delicious, cute, fluffy little animals out there just waiting to be chewed up, swallowed, digested and flushed that I am always faced with the dilemma; lamb or beef?  Pork or chicken?  Venison or sloth?  Well now there is no need to have to make these critical culinary decisions for I have created the perfect solution.

You're welcome.

Step 1:  Buy meat.  Lots and lots of lovely, delicious, once cute but now butchered beyond recognition, colon clogging meat.  Here we have lamb mince, bargain bacon (a few rashers required), a pork butterfly steak (I didn't know until now that a butterfly is made from pork, but now I do I will eat more), some chicken schnitzel, and some beef schnitzel.

Step 2: Get some garlic (2 cloves), and some rosemary, which is like, herby shit.

Step 3: Mash up the garlic and herby shit with some olive oil in a pestle and mortar, until it's like a bit of a paste.  Not too stodgy, not too runny.  That's right, I own a pestle and mortar.  And I even know what to use it for.  I just swan around the gaff these days thinking I'm Gordon fucking Ramsay.

Step 4: Mix the rosemary and garlic paste in with the lamb mince, add some salt and pepper, and knead that shit until it's well mixed in.  Place in a ziplok bag (which may or may not have been originally used for the purchase of a criminally large amount of Gummi Bears), and throw it in the fridge.

Step 5:  Place the pork steak in between two sheets of cling film and batter the shit out of that bitch until it's flat.
Top Tip:  Pretending it's Celine Dion makes it a whole lot more satisfying.

Step 6:  Once it's flatter than Julia Stiles' face, find some old white wine in the fridge, fold the pork up into another ziplok bag, pour in what's left of the wine, seal and place in the fridge next to the lamb.  Leave the lamb and pork to marinate overnight, and have wet dreams about how good this shit is gonna taste.

Step 7:  Pre-heat oven to 180 degrees.  I think that's the C, not the F.

Step 8:  Get your pork and lamb out.  Roll the lamb into a sausage shape, until it looks like a giant, ill turd.  Unfold the pork too.  Ignore hole.  This may be getting a bit too sexy.  Roll the pork around the giant cock-shaped lamb sausage, which I may one day try to use in polite conversation as a euphemism for sex.  I forgot to take a picture of this stage, but you should be able to cope.

Step 9:  Once the lamb is rolled in the pork, roll the whole thing in some bacon.   I've chosen to use 2 bits, but they are quite thick.  You can use more if you like.  Go on, you know you want to.

Step 10:  Once the pork is wrapped around the lamb, and the bacon is wrapped around the pork, wrap the chicken schnitzel around the outside.

Step 11:  Once the pork is wrapped around the lamb, and the bacon is wrapped around the pork, and the chicken is wrapped around the bacon, wrap some beef around the entire bitch.

Step 12:  Coat in some mixed herbs, to try and dull the impending smell of post-death bowel voiding.

Step 13:  Get some foil, and wrap that bitch up tight.  I mean tight.  In a few layers.  Like the BEST pass the parcel EVER.

Step 14:  Throw that bitch in the middle of the oven, and leave for around 3 hours, because e-coli is seriously NOT fun.  Once your 3 hours is up, remove from oven, and let it rest for 20 minutes.  I've got no idea why, but all the professionals do it on T.V. so it must do something, right?

Step 15:  Unwrap carefully.  Don't get too excited and rush in with fat little fingers keen for the meat prize inside.  Remember - the lack of steam is not due to a lack of heat, it's due to you wrapping that bitch up tight.  Then step back and marvel at the giant poo you appear to have created.

Step 16:  Marvel at it from a different angle, and wonder to yourself if it will actually look any different when it comes out of the other end.

Step 17:  Slice.  Inhale.  Lick.  Taste.  Be proud that you have just made the worlds best and longest scotch egg.

Step 18:  Serve on a bed of pasta, with a large helping of something that may do you some good.  I got carrot.  It helps you pee in the dark.

Of course, I have been up to much more over the past few months that I haven't updated you with, but I really can't be bothered just yet.  Look, up there ^, I have lots of faeces shaped meat to eat, so I will do it soon, I promise.

In the meantime, I can only see two possible outcomes.  Either my guts are going to be fully backed up for the next month, or I am going to spend a full week squirting dirty water out of my bum-piece.

I'll let you know.

I don't have a short attention span. But it certainly isn't that long either.

I've taken up a lot of activities in my life that I haven't pursued to brilliance, just mediocrity.  Which is why as much as it appears I have a short attention span, it is actually longer than you would believe.  But only just.

I may not remember a conversation I had with you yesterday.  Sure I was listening, and taking it in, but bear in mind there was at least seven other conversations that day that demanded my attention, which I took in, and tried to organise in my head in order of importance, but the ordering of it got too much so I just ended up thinking about snow, or lesbians, or lesbians in snow, and that conversation just dropped out of my head.  Which puts me in mind of Christmas one year, a time for giving, and receiving,  and being with family.  Bear with me, this is probably going somewhere.  

As was the tradition at the time, a few of us had been to the local pub on Christmas Eve just drinking and having a good time, as you do.  I ended up staying at a friends house and needed to get back to my parents house on the Christmas day, so they kindly offered to pick me up, drive me to my flat so I could spend a bit of time in the shower scrubbing out the smell of Stella Artois, and then drive me back to theirs for a day of presents, food, presents, beer, and presents.

Due to my mediocre attention span I am not entirely sure how this came about, but as my parents sat in the living room of my flat while I made my way off to the shower, my Mother began to look at part of my DVD collection and asked if it was okay if they could borrow some films.  Of course I said that was fine, thinking I was safe in the knowledge that any filthy films I had were secured in the bottom of my wardrobe (which a few years later, when I was moving out, she would end up packing up for me without batting an eyelid), and walked off to grab a towel and shower.  And that is how, when I walked out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, on Christmas Day of all days, I found my Mother - the wonderful woman that spent hours in immense pain delivering me some years ago (who I still feel a massive amount of empathy for every time I get measured for a helmet and they tell me I am an extra-large), with my Dad standing next to her - holding up a copy of a DVD called Snow Sluts and asking me, with a slight under-lying tone of sarcasm, "What's this one about then?".

Back to the attention span once more.  It's fucking terrible.  Really really bad.  I could live with it if it was short.  I could live with it if it was long.  But it's fair to middling.  Which basically means I start doing something, and when I think I am okay at it, I give up.  Playing the drums in school - I took a couple of exams, got quite good, but then realised how much hard work was involved in being in a band so quit pretty sharpish.  You want more examples?  Sure, I've got loads.  Magic. Loved it as a child.  And got okay at it too when I was younger.  But this one is surely understandable as magic is not cool.  David Copperfield may have scored Claudia Schiffer, but then Paul Daniels scored Debbie McGee - and I can think of thousands of people on this planet that the words "The Lovely" should be used before, and all of them aren't her by any stretch of the imagination.  The Great Soprendo was married to Victoria Wood for ages, and she still has a bowl haircut, appears on countdown every now and again, and is only Britain's favourite "comedienne" because she has jokes that don't primarily involve periods or useless husbands.  But then where she is concerned, my attention span shortens even further, so she may actually have that, but I have never bothered to pay attention through her act.

Martial Arts. I spent quite a lot of time with this one.  I got up to blue belt, which to be brutally honest is less than halfway, but I did well.  I came second in one tournament (beaten by a girl, one of the more erotic moments of my childhood), had a good few results in group tournaments, then gave it up because I felt I had learnt all I needed to to counter the bullies at school who tormented me every day for being a lardass.  Which was wrong to be honest. To counteract most of that, I just needed to keep my fat gob shut, but who knew at the time?

So getting back to the original point, which I can't remember due to my short attention span, but am going to assume it was something to do with skiing.  Once again, during the course of the season, I have been lame.  Really lame.  Most previous seasons you would find me out there every day, working on something, whether it be on skis or a board, but this year, not a jot.  There's a website where you can check your mountain stats online for the two local hills.  While I thought I was doing really well, I checked the other day only to find I had done 12 days.  Granted, I have been out to Cardrona a few times, which it doesn't track, but still.  12 days.  That's barely a 2 week holiday.  I have done that thing where I have accepted I have the whole season, so taken it easy for a while, and am now coming to terms with the fact that there is only 1 month of the season left, and I haven't hit anywhere near the heights I have done before.  But you know what?  I'm okay with that.  Because I still have that one month to go.  And as much as I don't generally like summer - I like Queenstown.  And I intend to try and do another summer here to see if there is anything I can get into this time.  And if I do another summer, I won't be able to leave before another winter.  

This place just drags you in.

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Dedicated - in a very strange way I guess given the subject matter - to Gramps, who passed away peacefully last Thursday.  Rest in peace.