Le Cool Dublin has just put out their bicycle themed issue full of cracking stuff to do in the city over the next week - in order to celelbrate this I’ve created the cover, hope you like it.
It’s been a dreadfully quiet week, I’ve stayed in, drawn a few things and ate a really nice Pieminster pie which I found when I took myself out for a late night cycle trip to Forrestside. Upon getting home, I slobbered it up with mushy peas, brown sauce and a cold tinny, probably burping as I went, which provided my weekly dosage of overtly masculine behaviour - I then retired to the living room, put my feet up and patted myself on the crotch and told myself I was a good lad.
The fact that I haven’t gone out anywhere socially in the past few days has had a weird repercussion in other, usually more innocuous areas of life which I’ve tried to spice up in lieu of hanging out with friends. I went out for a burrito tonight (this week is evidently rich food treat week) and as I was ordering found myself repeatedly asking the girl serving me a lot of inane questions.
The conversation faltered repeatedly when she insisted that we stop having it and suggested that I order something instead. “What kind of beans are those?” I said languidly, in my best Masterchef drawl, my tone suggesting that I knew exactly what they were, but didn’t quite understand what that specific type of bean was doing in amongst the sweetcorns, guacamole’s and salsas, as if their presence was an offence to my attuned bean sensors.
I don’t think she picked up on my clever, suggestive, conversational nuances as she just replied simply; ‘Pinto’. She didn’t even say it with an accent, just her normal Belfast cadence. I know if I worked there I’d put a bit of pizzazz into the word and maybe follow it up with some kind of wicked cool hand gesture. I just nodded sagely before moving on to proffer my opinion on differing salsa strengths (“Y’know baby, medium isn’t medium anymore, it’s more like mild, and strong is too strong - don’t even get me started on people who go for mild its not a sauce it’s barely even a flavour more gas than liquid y’get me love?”) which she looked vaguely depressed by as at this point I still hadn’t ordered anything, and quickly after she looked like she was choking back tears. It may have just been the mild salsa gas getting in her eyes or she may have realised that she was wasting her life talking to condiment pedants like me.