A short wishlist

I want sandwiches that taste of something other than limp bread and cold lettuce.

I want to taste all of my food and drink, and have it taste of something other than tapioca starch and emulsifiers and hydrolysed vegetable protein and flavourings.

I want to eat food off real plates, rather than out of plastic-and-cardboard containers that "fold out to form a handy tray!" and out of cups or glasses rather than horrid little plastic tubs. And I want to be sitting down when I eat (and not in a car), rather than dodging my way down the street with half my lunch in my hand.

I want pens that write, first time, without spiralling them 'round an old envelope for five minutes before throwing them, frustrated, in the bin.

I want things that last, rather than disposables that go in the trash after five minutes.

I want clothes that fit me, and are nice to wear, and not made in a sweatshop somewhere in Asia.

I want journalism, considered reporting, rather than five members of the public giving their inane, ill-informed opinions about every event that happens near them.

Oh, and I want a decent summer this year.

Is that so much to ask?

Too many shirts

I've just done the ironing.

I have so many shirts that my wardrobe is crammed. If I lived in a cartoon, the sides would be bulging comically, much like a tin of surströmming (and I'd have sound effects every time I blinked, or was particularly surprised, or saw a fine-looking woman. But that's not important right now).

The point is that the wardrobe is so full that I've begun to consider using the dry-cleaners as a temporary storage space. I've devised a cunning rotation system: by keeping some of my shirts at the cleaners (and perhaps some at the ironers, and yet more in the laundry basket) perhaps I'll have enough space to fit the remainder in the wardrobe.

Or perhaps it's time to have another Review-Gi-Oh.

Asinine alliteration

What is it about food marketeers that leads them to name food "products" (don't even get me started) with those ridiculous alliterative names?

According to the marketing blurb in the supermarket magazine, Forest Feast dried fruits come with typically idiotic names: Mouthwatering Mango, Scrumptious Sour Cherries, Bountiful Blackcurrants, Sumptuous Strawberries.

I mean, really. Taking just one at random, sumptuous means luxuriously fine, splendid, lavish. Not the first word that springs to mind when describing wizened old fruit, is it?

And the non-alliterative ones are even more asinine: Incredible Cranberries, Unbelievable Blueberries.

I'm pretty sure I do and can believe in cranberries and blueberries. And my palate may be as jaded or uneducated as you fancy, but dried fruit (dried fruit!) is never going to be incredible.