Yucky Liver

I DON'T expect you will be too surprised to learn that the Prince of Darkness has been involved in high-level discussions about the merits of Devil Dogs. More to the point, the Prince was talking over the virtues of Rottweillers with a lesbian who, according to my sources, looked remarkably like one of the Fraggles from Fraggle Rock.
You won't be at all surprised to learn that this happened during the dying embers of boozeday Tuesday when the Prince and some of his dastardly cohorts were stalking around some of the late night drinking dens of Cardiff, waiting to prey on unsuspecting virgins (unlikely, I know, that you would find any unsuspecting Cardiff virgins in late night drinking dens on a Tuesday night).
Certainly the person he encountered didn't quite fit the description. In fact, she openly admitted that not only was she a lesbian but she had a husband who was the proud founder of a number of porn sites and "would it be possible to advertise them in your newspaper. They are very popular".
At this point I am told the Prince made his excuses and left. Even HE couldn't handle this kind of debauchery.

Talking of the Prince's antics reminded me of my own rather disappointing experience with a bit of shrivelled liver. On Monday afternoon I took up the challenge of cooking a Nigel Slater recipe of grilled liver with a red pepper and garlic sauce. It was not nice.
Added to that I attempted one of his artichoke recipes, which was equally poor. Maybe I didn't follow his instructions to the letter but all I can say is that it can be really disappointing when the final product of three hours work looks absolutely nothing like the colourful picture of said meal in the magazine you have taken the recipe from. As for artichokes... pah... don't think I'll be trying them again in a hurry.
I'd let you make your own minds up, but for all the trouble and time it took I can't be bothered to put the recipe on this blog to inflict anyone else with the same feeling of dejection that consumed me.

Right said Fred visited me on Tuesday morning. Not the band that were "too sexy for their shirts" but two men in a van who were dropping off the sofa bed that Wren has very kindly donated to my "new flat".
Having bought herself a lovely, comfortable new bed herself, my girlfriend sent the van men across the bridge to Wales to drop off my new acquisition. Just what I needed to enable the Fat Kid, the Vin Man and the Big Boy to visit me whenever they like.
I expected them to be in and out in five minutes. Big mistake.
After grunting, pushing and heaving the two rather sturdy chaps, drenched in sweat, made an announcement. "It's too big to go through the door and up the stairs... We're gonna have to take the door off."
So, as the song goes, I made them a cup of tea.
Then they started unscrewing the door, which had only been in place for a few months, removing it from its hinges so that they could have another go.
"Twist it upwards... no... put it on its side," ordered the foreman to his junior partner.
"No, it's not gonna go through. The back of the sofa is the wrong shape. We'll have to remove the door frames."
At this stage, and with my landlord Scooby likely to make an entrance any minute, I began to panic. They assured me it would be fine. "A bit of filler and you won't notice the difference," said one.
So they had another cup of tea.
Then they removed one of the door frames. It seemed to come out fairly easily.
They repositioned the sofa and started pushing and shoving. I could hear bits of chipped wood falling all over the carpet as they heaved and heaved and... gave up.
"No, sorry fella, the other door frame will have to be removed, too."
I had visions of my nice new flat crumbling down around my shoulders.
But first, another cup of tea.
Finally, at the third attempt, with my doorway now a gaping hole - just the way it was three months ago - the blessed sofa bed finally got through the gap.
All this cost me £110.
Let us never talk of it again.

Tuesday afternoon was highly enjoyable once the headache had gone away. Wren came over and we travelled down to the Captain's Wife pub in Sully, which has lovely views of the Severn Estuary and also serves fantastic food. For starters we had some melted camembert with toast, grapes and pear and apricot chutney.
Then for the main meal Wren had crispy duck with some sauteed potatoes and veg, while I gorged on a 12oz sirloin steak, chips and peppercorn sauce.
After that we needed a brisk walk to wake us up before returning to the new sofa to watch the film The Illusionist, with a starring role for my favourite actor Ed Norton. Good stuff.
Oh yeah, and the England cricket team managed to win their New Zealand tour with a resounding third test victory in Napier. Not before their No 10 batsman, a youngster by the name of Tim Southee, managed to score 77 with nine sixes. Incredible.