No place like home
Grandad June 27th, 2010
Holidays are great, but sometimes it’s nice to get back to familiar things.
Some people say they miss their own bed. Fuckit – when you’re asleep, you’re unconscious so what difference does it make?
My mother used to complain that she missed her own potato peeler. She started bringing it on holiday with her. How fucking weird can you get?
There are only two things that I miss when I’m away from home.
One is my armchair. It is nicely moulded to my arse, so when I sit in it I don’t slide around or fall out, which is handy after a few pints. It’s also very cosy for dozing in, which is something I can’t say for other people’s chairs.
The other is my curry.
There happens to be a damned good Indian curry house in Skobieville, and what’s even better is that they deliver. They know me well, so they always throw in a few extras, like a side order of sauces or that crispy wafer stuff they like. They give good portions and the meat is always cooked to perfection. I have never had a large lump of lamb in my curry yet that I couldn’t cut with the side of a fork. How tender is that?
I have a celebratory Vindaloo last night to welcome myself home.
It was fucking marvellous.
I have been farting like a trooper all night and shitting the squits all day.
Brilliant.
There’s no place like home.
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