School Cookery

What a load of shite that is. Literally. The youngest two-legged came home today with some "spring rolls" that he'd made. I use the quotation marks as these were the largest spring rolls that I've even seen by a country mile. I didn't know it was humanly possible to get filo pastry in sheets that fucking big. Massive rolls of lino is what they resembled. Rolls if lino that had been made several hours previously and left to "marinade" in their own sweat in a Tupperware container on the window sill for half the fucking day. Crisp they weren't. Forget all notions of crispness. If there's a machine for measuring crispness (I'm sure I've seen Heston Blumenthal use one) then it would have needed re-calibrating to get low enough to measure the fucking soggy uncrispiness of these sorry looking sweaty bastards. Not only that but the cookery teacher, or do they call her a food design technologist or something these days, whatever, the cookery teacher then wanted the two-legged to get a picture of his Mum tucking into said damp rolls of lino. Fuck you Mrs Cookery Teacher, fuck you right off, me Mum no doubt thought, clearly not embracing the chance to be photographed catching e-coli botchelism vomititis in her very own kitchen devoid of make-up and dressed like a bag lady having just spent 8-hours doing her gardening day job. Get me the Guinness Book of Bastard Records on the phone, is there a longest, fattest, dampest pissing spring roll in the world category? 'Cos if there is you'd better get Norris MuckSquirter round here sharpish. Ken Hom must be shitting himself that's all I can say. Even I, a dog with an iron constitution that eats other dog's shit for Christ's sake, wouldn't touch them. So we took a photo of me presented with that actual dilemma and sent that in instead. Me Mum says stick it up yer arse Miss.