Ice Ice Baby

Whoops! I forgot to fully close the door on my freezer the other day and so the next time I opened it, I found that the interior had gone from ‘a bit icy’ to ‘drifts’.

Of course, I know that sooner or later you’re supposed to de-frost your freezer - the natural indicator for this is when a bottle of vodka is frozen in the back somewhere and you have to get it out…which is why we have knives! I don’t de-frost - I hack! This has the benefit of being jolly good fun and also provides sizeable chunks of ice left over afterwards for that cooling gin and tonic you’re going to need.

Of course, it also occasionally floods the house with freon from a pierced tube….but that’s an occupational hazard and an acceptable risk!

The situation is a bit grim though, the ice build up means it’s getting difficult to close the door properly, meaning more ice, meaning it’s even more difficult to close the door…and so on.

At the moment it’s only at the ‘good overnight snowfall’ stage, but before long it’s going to be ‘March of the Penguins’ before finishing with ‘I’m just going out, I may be some time’.Obviously, I have to defrost before yetis move in - this will probably take place over the weekend and will, I have no doubt, result in a torrent of water like the Zambezi in spate and me with a just a towel to soak it up.

The benefit is that we get to eat all the stuff I’ve had in the freezer. This includes various leftovers that I’ve frozen after meals in a fit of economy. Luckily, this means either chilli or curry, both of which go well with rice.The only drawback is that I’m having them for lunch and as a result my office now smells like a Bombay brothel after a particularly tricky chicken jalfrezi.

Dressing UP.....Or Down

The right outfit for the right occasion - that’s the ticket! Attending a funeral dressed as, say, a jockey, might cause comment (unless the funeral is Seabiscuit’s) and the rules for dress-down-day in the office only go so far - men wearing skirts that finish above the knee are frowned upon, fur may draw furious tutting, and dressing up as a Borg may lead to a fistfight in the loo with the Klingon from accounts.

It’s odd that in a time of apparent plenty, there’s so little evidence of choice of dress being exercised. This statement is drawn from a random sampling of the youth/delinquent hybrids on display outside McChunders. They appear to have been produced from the same jelly mould, all wearing ‘leisure wear’, mobile ‘phones and assorted acne with attitude.

And so to a company dinner on Tuesday at an altogether too fancy resteraunt. What to wear?Business suit?...Nah…too ‘work’. Jeans and a waistcoat? Nope…too much chance of the CEO having a stroke (and not in a good way). So I opted for the ‘safe’ black option, whilst everyone else opted for…yep, you guessed it…jeans. Bastards.

As for dinner, I sat next to vegetarian who, I’m pleased to say, I managed to cure by the end of the evening. I simply explained that the best way to show your concern about the ethical treatment of animals was to buy free-range, organic meat. Indeed, why not adopt or sponsor a beast, so that when your cuts come they are accompanied by a booklet showing Gerald the cow frolicking happily in pasture and living a happy life - right up to the moment they meet Mr Volt and Mr Bolt.

The food? Not bad, but mass catering will never be as good as locally sourced, in-season food cooked for a small dinner party in a kitchen a few yards from the table.

I Even got a gift! How cool is that? - like a posh happy meal.

Service was great though. Wine? Free! Hoorah!