Is there anything more joyful than a can of oily mackerel and some thinly sliced slices of red onion? Oh ho – no no…
It can often be a problem being a Brit and lusting after strong, salty, fishy, garlicky tastes that pervade the breath all day, but yet are so appealing, so mouth-wateringly tasty you just cannot deny the allure.
In Spain – garlic infused toast is a humble staple, France – stinky cheese, a natural member of the family, Germany, Austria all those Nords, well they love a plate of pickled fish don’t they? But Blighty, old Blighty, well she would rather eat simple, bashful, old baked beans on toast and, perhaps, go wild with the marmite.
Well, I, very often, like to my allow my senses to steam over me and will secretly slide into the kitchen, can-opener up my sleeve, raw onion poised, waiting to be sliced, naked and alone and ready to eat, atop a crispy ryvita number or maybe some toasted fresh sourdough with said oily fish straight from la can…yooohhooohaaaa – get the fish out, get the oily fishface onto the vessel thus chosen, oh salivATION – go forth…all will be well…
Just so long as you don’t go out or see anyone else for the rest of that day.
Yes, you can brush your teeth.
Yes, you can rinse with mouthwash.
Yes, you can brush again.
But why can’t everyone else indulge in oily fish, and raw onion for lunch and join the stinking brethren?
By the way Freddie Mercury, whose very voice makes me shudder with appreciation, whose sensual massaging whisper, “who wants to live forever” in my ear makes my hairs stand on end – this genius, this hero, this man who sung for every single heart – with his entire heart and soul, and, by the way, looked fucking great in lycra WITH a moustache, he has been not of this earth for twenty years. RIP Freddie – we still love and adore you.