That’s because those shows exist to make you and I feel like we’re doing haute cuisine in our tiny wee kitchens. At least, that’s what I feel when I watch that lardy bastard Jamie Oliver. Seriously - that prick adds garlic to a carbonara.

God, I fucking love this song. My mother used to dance around our house to that, Technotronic, Yazz (remember her!?!) and Snap! The late eighties were, in my mind, the best time for music in the UK.  *hexes the Interchangeable Emmas and Chads with their autotune*  May your orifices congeal and your bits fall off into…

For my parents, it was James A Michener’s The Drifters. I would have been six years old and I remember my mother sitting my sister and I down and telling us that we were “going on a big and wonderful adventure”. It was also immediately after Chernobyl and my parents were freaking out about it. And what happened after…

I’d gladly hold that roid-queen down and get my female colleagues/cohort to kick them in the kidneys if that ever happened. Gym Bullies are thankfully few and far between and you’d be surprised as to how many guys at your gym are really just there to work on their fitness. But yeah, if that ever happened, beep me. …

As a fat bastard myself (hey, I don’t mince words. I mince my moves going down the road whilst shrieking about how awful Becky’s hair looks whilst on the phone to my boss) I stopped comparing myself to male models years ago when I actually met and befriended a few. They look so effortlessly gorgeous, don’t they? The…

The only reinvention I ever did at High School was when I was between sixteen and seventeen years old (my birthday fell in the middle of the summer holidays, so, er, yay?) when I first watched Muriel’s Wedding (I know. I’m already a bit of a gay cliche, so why not go the full Mariel, eh?) and The Adventures of…

*polite applause*

You do find something called pizza al taglio in Italy. They’re big sheets of pizza cooked in massive rectangular pans and then served up in slices that you can customise for your appetite or budget. Al taglio literally means “by the cut” or “when cut” and it’s rather popular in Italy as a street food.  I think it…

I’m always going to be a major Stan for Neapolitan, but New York-style is an acceptable if slightly-inferior substitute. I personally think it has to be fresher-than-fresh, literally yanked out of the oven and chucked at you (or, as my cousin would say, it should still be bubbling). I just can’t get into a Chicago…

Ahem. This little number dropped today. As you all were...

Good.  Now can we find an open lift shaft to push her into?

Oh, such a brilliant comeback. Seriously, someone pass me some ointment for the massive burn!  *snort*

And hate leads to wrinkles, which leads to saggy man-boobs. We shall shun them. And be sparkly whilst doing it!

Or maybe because you think corn oil is a food group.  Christ, even your bread is full of sugar.  No thanks.  

Oh I’m sorry - which country elected a semi-sentient orange cancerball to be President?  You get back to me when you get rid of the Russian operative in your White House (which we burned down, by the way!)  

Well, unsurprisingly - you’re wrong (again. Must be a habit for you).

Heston can blow a fucking lavender foam up his arse, the egg-headed wankpot that he is. Cannot stand him.  Or Jamie bloody fatboy Oliver.

He only goes to the places he can afford.  Like Wetherspoons.

Uh huh.  Tell me - hows your country’s track record with e-coli and other tasty food poisoning going, Lizard-boy?  Yeah.  Ta-ta.

Well, it’s a good thing I live in Scotland, you geographically-challenged mental midget, isn’t it?