In which I am the victim of a serious crime, and for what might be the first time eat veal: the pork of beef.
All food bets are off around the Christmas period: a lawless time when it feels reasonable to have fudge for breakfast and you can drink Hofmeister at 10am without anyone raising an eyebrow. So as going to the effort of making one burger seems a waste of energy, I'm going to have two.
I ended the year as I lived it: doing something to a standard that was acceptable but ultimately fell short of its potential.
I have had The Lads round. We spent Friday night playing poker, talking about which cars are the fastest cars and objectifying women. As a result on Saturday morning I have two rinded oranges left over from Old-Fashioneds. So now I need to find something to do with two oranges. Something that doesn’t involve autoerotic asphyxiation.