Monday, February 27, 2006

Party time

I like going to parties. I'm still at the age where it's okay for parties to be where everyone brings a bottle (of vodka), inappropriate games are played and much hilarity ensues. None of that dinner party cocktail nonsense and chitchat about politics and childcare.
Oh, no, it's all kicks and giggles (err, is that a real thing?).

So I had a party this weekend (hence the general lack of posting). It was going to be a big booze extravaganza with a lot of my gay friends. But due to a number of quite frankly pathetic excuses, ranging from I'm in Thailand, I'm in South Africa for a business thing (no really), I'm shooting in North Yorkshire (film, not animals.Unless I've really misunderstood what The F Word is about), this is the only weekend I can go house(read homo)hunting in London, I am too much of a lesbian to drive from Bournemouth to see you even though you came to my party which is exactly the same distance away, I have a horse, I am Welsh and poor and I forgot to ask you. Sorry Anna. Just got confused there, I wasn't deliberately excluding you.

I should point out that these excuses were all from different people.

But we still ended up hosting a party with five people staying over. In my one bedroom flat which has a double bed and a double futon. Yes, I'm still young enough for that kind of close proximity too (plus me and other half obviously got the bed:-) although no-one had much choice as he went to bed drunkenly two hours before everyone else).

It all went down pretty well. I made a huge curry the day before (we spent two days eating it and I still froze enough for about four more helpings), and bought a selection of extremely unhealthy and quite unhealthy snacks. The seven of us (yes my maths is right) proceeded to drink copiously, forgot about dinner until about 3am, went to the town's bitchin' nightclub (full of jockeys and small people) for about two hours. Then, when we returned and started continuing to drink but in our pyjamas, the other party contingent (American servicemen from the nearby USAF base) appeared. They were very pleased about the ladies in pyjamas situation. Ever played the drinking game Kings? Well, if you value your braincells, don't .

After a couple more hours of this, lots more alcohol, and a mixture of yawns from the ladies and unsubtle attempts to look up pyjamas from the Yankees, I decided to evict the non-stayers, one of whom had apparently thrown up several times elsewhere and I was not keen on any of that in my flat. Strangely, I got a knock on the bedroom door about half an hour later. Two of them had returned, hopeful, I suspect, of getting some. They claimed they had nowhere to stay and wanted to beg floor space. I politely (well, not really) declined as well as one can at 5.30am when wearing nothing apart from knickers and a dressing gown.

The morning after was great. My guests insisted on cooking breakfast, making tea and tidying up. And from the weekend's events I have acquired: one 3/4 full bottle of Vodka; one full bottle of Archers peach schnapps; four bottles of Smirnoff Ice; a 1/4 full bottle of gin; two bottles of white wine; a bottle of undrinkable orange alcopops and a book of muffin recipes (this was more in the line of a house-warming gift). Other half said he once had a party where he had 24 burgers and 16 sausages left. He ate them in two days (it was a uni thing and he had to move out by the end of the week).

Perhaps more entertainingly, when I went to a party and stayed at my best friend's house last November, I left behind a penguin (cuddly rather than real).

More on that story later.

Oh yeah. I forgot to post my weight loss situation the other day but don't worry, it was good news. I lost another two pounds, meaning I've now lost half a stone. Yay!

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Kitchen Nightmares

I like to think I'm pretty good in the kitchen. I make a pretty damn good risotto and a selection of bitchin' curries. But there have been some rather embarrassing moments on my way to culinary excellence.

I was pondering the differences between someone who is intelligent, someone who is clever, someone who knows a lot, and someone who has common sense. A good example of lack of common sense is demonstrated by some events which have taken place in the kitchen under my fair hand.

Here, in no particular order, are a catalogue of some of the woeful events that could probably have been avoided by a dash of common sense:

*Put a tinned curry in the microwave - in its tin (what? We didn't have a microwave at home and no-one told me you couldn't put metal in the microwave).
*Set light to a pair of oven gloves by leaving it on top of a switched on electric hob - twice in less than a month.
*Failed to properly secure the valve on the top of a pressure cooker and sprayed the ceiling with bright, red tomato stew.
*Cracked a beautiful hand cast, hand glazed ceramic casserole my friend had brought me back from Bosnia after putting it directly on the hob.
*Finely chopped some bird-eye chillies without any protective gloves or similar and burnt my hands so badly with the capsicum I had to keep them in luke-warm water for about two days.
*Curdled a milk-based sauce by attempting to make it go a bit further by adding some wine.
*Left a rice pan boiling, only returning when there was no water left and the rice was a blackened, stodgy mess at the bottom which took me an hour to scrub off.

And on a related theme, when I worked at a supermarket once, I watered the dry flowers.

To make me feel less bad about the whole thing, I asked a colleague about the stupidest thing he ever did in a kitchen and I think his is even better.

He stabbed himself in the hand with a red-hot skewer while trying to pierce a conker. He was 24 at the time. He also left some eggs boiling once and didn't remember about them until he smelt the smoke.

You'll be pleased to know that none of the above was sufficiently disastrous for me to seek medical attention or call out the fire brigade.

But there's always time...

Now, spill the beans, what's the silliest thing you've ever done in a kitchen situation?

Monday, February 20, 2006


I have something to confess to you. I am distinctly unfashionable. Well, for many reasons, but one in particular springs to mind.

It is not fashionable to like your dentist. It is not cool. The most common reaction when you say you have a dentist's appointment is a mixture of sympathy and relief that the person you are talking to does not have such a terrible afternoon in store.

Here I buck the trend somewhat. I like my dentist. I have been visiting the practice since, well, since I grew teeth (strange, that sounds like some kind of monstrous thing that would happen to a particularly malevolant creature in a horror film rather than a natural stage of development that comes to us all).

In that time I have seen two dentists - the lovely Mr E, who used to give me stickers and has since he retired, and the possibly even lovelier Mr A.
-I always want to call them doctors, it's like the whole surgeons being Mr as well, I don't really get it.-
While I was growing up, virtually everyone I knew had tooth 'issues', whether it was numerous fillings, braces or more elaborate grown-up stuff such as the extraction of wisdom teeth or *shudder* root canal work. This includes both my brother and sister, who both had braces and my sister also had to wear some strange tooth mould covered in whitening jelly.

I was no angel either. Back in the day, I liked my fruit salads and marathons as much as the next sweetie hungry nipper. And dentistry is in fact the reason for my only hospital stay - the time I had my two front teeth removed under general anaesthetic. This was due to a , ahem, perhaps misguided solution to keeping me quiet at night by filling my sucky bottle with sickly sweet sugary orange squash. Which turned my (fortunately milk) teeth black. That was a bizarre experience. I can't have been more than about five and they did the whole counting backwards thing as I dissolved into anaesthetic numbness. Then woke up a couple of hours later, disoriented and alone in a completely different room which I hadn't even seen before. How we laughed...not. (I also had about three fillings in my teens).

But instead of giving me a fear of people who do quite frankly weird stuff in your mouth for life (hmm, could have phrased that one better), I actually remember thinking how nice everyone was. And there's something about going to the same practice all my life. I chipped my adult front tooth when someone tripped me up in the netball court and Mr E went for years telling me he would cap it when we were older. He retired and in came efficient, South African Mr A. He had me in the chair in a trice, and while the capping wasn't pleasant by any means, I no longer had this big gap in my teeth - I had a complete smile and you couldn't even see the join.

That was about a decade ago, I would guess. And despite six-monthly check-ups, it's the only work he's done since bar the odd scale and polish. In this time, I've moved from Berkshire to Dorset, back to Berkshire and then up to Suffolk, and the practice has gone private - apart from pre-existing NHS patients like myself (ha, knew there was a reason to keep up the appointments). The receptionist is still the same lady and still remembers me coming in with the rest of my family. And while it's a two and a half hour trip to get there, it's where my family live so I just coincide it with the visits. My work colleagues think I'm mad not to get someone closer, but I LIKE my dentist and I will always have a reason to go home, while I don't suppose I shall have roots in Suffolk forever.

I don't get the sticker any more (more's the pity) but I do get all of two minutes in the chair, minimal and efficient prying and then a cheery "see you in six months!". I do sometimes wonder whether my teeth are secretly rotting and he's not telling me cos it's far more expensive to do work on NHS patients. But I decide they're just all too nice for that. And I come away feeling virtuous, which is more than worth £5.46. I'm just hoping that when my wisdom teeth do eventually make an appearance (I'm not sure they ever will cos I have never had an x-ray), they're where they should be and Mr A can send me on my way with a smile.

Doctors, mind you...that's another story.

Friday, February 17, 2006

A week of bras

I have had a pretty good bra week. My boyfriend (have to think of appropriate nickname for him on here - my friends call him Frandy as a sort of amalgamation of the two of us, whaddya think?) asked me what I wanted for Valentines Day. I said I wanted a bra. But I also insisted that I go with him to buy it because I wanted it to fit.

In my head I wanted a red, satin wonderbra. However, when I arrived at Debenhams, no such thing appeared to exist. Tricky. I did manage to find a bitchin' black satin wonderbra and a red Debenhams 'Ultimate' gel bra.

It was immediately clear to me that I had to have both of these. So I made puppy dog eyes and told Frandy I really needed the Wonderbra but I knew he wanted me to have a red bra (I know, so obvious). He said he could only get me one. I looked sadly at him and he walked up to the counter with both of them. Teeheehee.

Here they are...

For some reason the black one hasn't come out too well, but trust me it's fab. Anyhow, during this bra shopping I saw some very funky sports bras (needed a white one cos the black one looks pretty dumb underneath my white aertex). I could tell Frandy was bra-ed out so I left them for the interim and sneakily returned the next day and bought a lovely sensible brassiere.

And yes, I have a picture of that one too.

I realise the lighting looks a bit funny. I'm not sure why. I think it may have been my general devilishness shining red light...

Thursday, February 16, 2006

What makes you any different from everybody else?

Some years ago when I was 16 and a bit I got my first proper job (I don't count my brief stint delivering parish magazines which was the hardest earned £2.50 an hour I remember receiving to date) working in the fruit and veg department (strangely enough known as 'produce') at a well-known supermarket chain.

This was a job for the more hardy employees - you had to carry around big boxes full of carrots, potatoes and such like and subsequently there were generally very few girls on the section. I would like to point out that at that stage of my life I was doing roughly 8 hours gymnastics a week and was fairly svelte compared to today - indeed on my first day, the young man I was working with on whom I developed a cripplingly embarassing and rather obvious unrequited crush, was too worried to give me any of the heavier loads because I was so "fragile and delicate". I kid you not.

Anyway, on the section was a man who I guess must have been 60ish but wore his years not so well - Uncle Ray we called him. Largely because he strenuously objected to Grandad Ray for obvious reasons. He liked to take the newbies - particularly the young girls - under his wing and espouse various pieces of life advice. He used to be the back door manager (clean your mind! that just meant he was in charge of what went on off the shop floor) but had decided he wanted less responsibility in his more advanced years. He wasn't wizened, exactly, but definitely grizzled. If that's a verb.

At 16, I had a fairly high opinion of myself (while being simultaneously inwardly crippled with self-loathing and self-doubt, obviously) and at the very least I was convinced that I was quite different from other girls my age.

This opinion came up one day. Uncle Ray turned around and asked me why? What set me aside from everyone else?

I opened mouth to spout off with my usual verbal diarrhoea then I was stumped. This was a harder question than I had first thought. I truly believed that I was different - not necessarily special - but the differentness seemed clear because of the simple evidence that other people my age, for the most part, didn't seem to like me very much and tended to be pretty mean to me. My friends would, I hope, back-up my assertion that I wasn't like any 16 year old.

But how? and why?

The first thing I could come up with was that I was quite religious - I believed in God and thought he was pretty cool, even though I didn't actually go to church. As soon as I said this, I realised this wasn't such a great answer.

So I stumbled for another - I was clever, got mostly As with the odd (generally disputed) B thrown into the mix and was going to go to university and ace my course.

Valid, but I wasn't a wunderkind - a little precocious but I was generally second in the class, not first and yes, I got 11 GCSEs but they weren't straight As. So I soon realised this didn't set me out all that much. Although it did explain the bullying etc somewhat.

The conversation ended fairly abruptly after that. I'm not sure if Uncle Ray,in his wisdom, was trying to teach me a little humility or something similar, or just to take me down a peg or two, but it left me thinking.

I still think of myself as not quite like everyone else (I do generally score relatively highly on those how abnormal are you style quizzes), but if I look at my life more objectively as I hope 8 years has given me the judgment to do, I still ask, what does set me apart? I'm a journalist on a local newspaper. I love writing but generally don't wake up every morning with a spring in my step thinking 'yay, I get to go to work today'. I live in sin with my long-term boyfriend who I will probably get married to when he plucks up the courage to ask me and buys the right ring;-) I get a bit pissed off with noisy kids particularly when they smack you on the arse when riding past you on their bike (yes that really happened to me last night). I get slightly excited when I buy new stuff for my kitchen or house and have started salivating over these really gorgeous floral quilts. I go out to the pub every now and again and binge drink slightly (ahem). I'm even on a committee (for my local gymnastics club where I coach, it's not the WI or anything). I did go to Glastonbury last year mind you and went travelling to Israel for a couple of weeks and am going to Thailand with my boyfriend this year.

So does any of that sound different or exciting? Or do I sound middle of the road, just like anyone else? What can I boast that sets me apart from the pack? And why do I so badly need to be elevated in some way?

Tricky. Maybe this is just part of growing up - realising that I'm probably never going to be the editor of the Grauniad or the youngest woman on the moon or an Olympic gymnast. Or maybe everyone is a bit unique and it's almost impossible to explain why and only the people who know you best could put it into worlds. So I won't give up my quest to be different just yet. Even if all it means is I'm going to make some frankly inadvisible fashion choices;-)

PS am having my two-weekly weigh-in tomorrow - if it's good news I will share the weight loss, but not the weight (I am too ashamed for that just yet).

Monday, February 13, 2006

A weekend away

I have been off visiting my family in their rural Berkshire idyll, so no posts for a few days. Instead, a haircut, a few tasty home-cooked meals and my first ever effort at Yorkshire Puddings (what do ya know, it actually worked and they all got et up).
Anyway, some pictures while I think about what to blog about. So here are some pictures of the delightful town of Newbury. Richard Adams what wrote Watership Down lived there, you know.

oh yes, someone wanted to see what my clover tongue looks like. Here it is.

Blimey, that took some work! My wonderful home connection speed (dial-up, you know) It's a bit of a rubbish pic, I know.

Not much to report, really, apart from a new "initiative" at work. Apparently, they keep finding junkies in our office toilets which are shared between our office of about 15-20 people and a firm of solicitors, the shopping centre management and a couple of other companies that don't spring to mind.

So, the centre management staff, in their wisdom, have decided to issue keys to the toilets and leave them locked at all times. Except, they have only issued one male key and one female key to each office. Which is probably not such a bad thing for the guys, who, unless they're taking a lengthy dump which I would rather not think about, will be in and out in the shake of a horse's arse ( no I don't know what that means either). But for the ladies, it's rather more embarassing. For a start, you might as well announce to the office, as you go to pick up the solitary key in its prominent position at the entrance to the editorial side of the office, Hello folks, I am going to the toilet. And also exactly when you will be returning, so if you have to deal with certain issues arising from it being your time of the month, or if you are simply having a bad hair day and need to spend some time dealing with it away from your desk, EVERYONE will know. It's bad enough trying to sneak a tampon out of the office (yes, you can take your whole handbag but then what do you say when they ask where you are off to?) so add a key to the mix, it's just torture.

Plus all the times when you make it all the way to the loo before realising it's locked and you haven't got the key. Or someone else has already got it and they're taking a VERY LONG TIME in there.

I think I'm just going to take to loudly announcing that I'm going for a piss. See how they like that.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Why do I want to be thin?

I was reading the excellent the other day and it made some interesting points about how many people associate weight loss with a solution to all the problems in their life. This is something I believe can lead to actual obsession and eating disorders.

But it got me thinking. One of the reasons a lot of people do develop these life-threatening disorders (I believe 15 per cent of anorexics actually die although this is an old figure) is because it is the one area of life they feel they do have power over and they can control. Which, unless you have Prader-Willis syndrome or one of those funny glandular problems, is probably true. And it is something where the results of your efforts are both measurable and visible which doesn't apply to a lot of other areas of life.

So am I trying to lose weight because I feel out of control in my job/home life/ family life/social life?

No. It is just one thing on a list of to dos. But there are definite things I know that being at my pre-university weight again will help me achieve. One of my friends, one of the ones who incites me to do inappropriate gymnastics in nightclubs, said to me entirely without malice "But Frangelita, imagine how much more amazing stuff you could do if you did lose a bit of weight!"

So that's number one - be able to do the gymnastics (and now yoga) that I could do when I was younger - within reason, obviously. It's stuff like when I put all my weight on my hands in some move or other, these days it aches quite a lot - if I became stronger and lighter, it would be easier and more beneficial.

Number two - be able to comfortably cross my legs. I'm not so fat I can't cross my legs - but I have to physically hold my upper leg in place using muscular strength because it is a more extreme stretch to get over my big thighs.

Number three - be able to wear more clothes and not end every clothes shopping trip in virtual tears.

Number four - My ankles, back etc won't ache so much after a few hours/a day walking around.

Number five - my risk of contracting heart disease, high blood pressure and diabetes in later life will dramatically decrease.

Number six - no more fattist comments (it's apparently okay to make jokes about people who are overweight, so sensible people like me make the joke first).

Number seven - be able to run up the three flights of stairs to work without feeling breathless afterwards.

Number eight - better skin - I know for a fact when I've been exercising my skin is in much better condition.

Number nine - More options from the kama sutra available (nuff said, my mum reads this)

Number 10 - More appreciative looks and wolf-whistles from men (you can pretend you don't want this, but really, you're lying.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not the size of a house but I am definitely more lardy than Kellycat (the only blogger I know brave enough to publish their actual weight - I'm certainly not going to). And I would rather be a bit overweight than a bit underweight cos I think that looks and is worse for you. I am also quite a curvy lady - my friends once told me I had a proper hourglass figure (by this she means I have noticeable tits and an arse) and I don't want to lose that.

But for the reasons above, I'm going to carry on with the tortuous Spinning classes, continue endeavouring to follow Paul McKenna's four golden rules and continue turning down biscuits in the office (seriously, I should be awarded a medal for that one).

I just won't lose sight of the goals and limitations of slimming down. Wish me continued luck :-)

Things I like to do

I'm going to tell you about some of my subversive and possibly repulsive habits now.
I like to:
  • Make toasted sandwiches without buttering both sides of the bread
  • Eat cheddar cheese with a little bit of chocolate spread
  • Eat frozen sweetcorn - while it's still frozen
  • Lick the Marmite off the knife
  • Do sudden, explosive and inappropriate gymnastic manoeuvres in cramped nightclubs
  • Scrape food out of non stick pans with a metal spoon (sorry Urban Chick, copied that one from you)
  • Examine and pick my feet when folded over upside down in yoga classes
  • Fart in one room then leave so I can't be blamed for the heinous stench
  • Fold my tongue into a clover leaf shape just to freak people out (someone once told me only one in a million people can do this, I think that's a lie - but it is freaky)
  • Wear kinky shoes/underwear underneath my work clothes - just because I can
  • Take pens apart to see how they work then lose a vital component

I'm pretty sure there are many other freakish habits that don't come to mind right now. Please, share yours.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


I have a Welsh friend named Geraint. We went to university together. One day we were in some club chatting away and we decided it would be a good idea if he taught me some useful Welsh phrases - you know, in case I ever got stuck in a situation where only Welsh would solve the problem.

Unfortunately, seeing as we were both fairly inebriated, neither of us could think of too many key phrases. So I settled for "Look at my breasts, aren't they great!" I memorised this, but we both agreed that it would be a good idea for him to text it to me so I had a point of reference the next day.

Unbeknownst to Geraint, I had recently got a new phone. And hawked the old one to my mum (for, as I recall, the princely sum of £40 which in retrospect was a big rip-off - sorry Mum). Imagine her surprise the following morning when she was presented with what started off as Welsh gibberish (which would not have been so bad) but with a helpful English translation.

My mum forwarded me the text mail pretty much without comment. It was rather embarassing.

But imagine my chagrin to discover the following from Geraint today:
* ps, i learnt a new word in welsh - fronau (vron - eye) breasts. it would seem that cleddau is 'tits'. sorry for any confusion.*
So all this time I have been referring to my tits not my breasts! All the Welsh people who have considered me to be both crude and surprisingly proud of my own anatomy!

Helpfully, Geraint has sent me some new words to learn. They are: moist, naked, and parents. So, I could feasibly learn the new phrase, "Look at my naked parents! Aren't they great!"

Anyone with any other languages who would like to teach me some equally useful words/phrases, please send them along - I have a quite impressive capacity for language. One day I hope to have the above phrase in up to 20 languages...

Monday, February 06, 2006

Lots and lots of cooking

I have been very industrious in the kitchen over the last few days. I'm not entirely sure why this is, but it all started when I had a craving for hummus.

So I went to the sandwich shop downstairs and had a brown bap with hummus and sweetcorn (which, by the way, is a combination I very much recommend). This merely fuelled by desire for more hummus. Rather than buy it at £2.10 a pop, I decided to make some of the yummy stuff and nicked a recipe from squeezeweasel at
This was rather time-consuming (due largely to the general cheap-and-bought from Tesco-ness of my blender) but really quite therapeutic.

Then I had to make other half a delicious birthday meal (bruschette con mozzarella, chicken pepperonata and hot citrus pudding - his choice), which involved very VERY fine chopping of shallots and garlic (no, not the pudding). Again, therapeutic, although it did make me cry a bit.

I got a bit carried away with all this cookery lark and decided I was going to make some guacomole. This was on Sunday, and we had eaten a large lunch with my parents who were visiting, so OH got a bit over-excited and suggested we buy some salsa, tortilla chips and have a bit of a nacho fest.

No, I declared, we still have tomatoes so I will make salsa! I exclaimed. And I did. Mashing avocadoes - very enjoyable. Lots more very fine chopping for the salsa and the guacomole. Mmmm.

I wanted to involve the hummus in this somehow but OH was not keen and I kind of see his point, so we just spread out the Doritos (yeah, I'm not clever enough to make those myself), grated some cheese over them, grilled it until it melted then put dollops of guacomole, salsa and low fat greek yogurt on the top.

MMMMmmm, pure deliciousness.

I feel all this chopping, mashing and blending may be less therapeutic when you are really, really hungry. Although I rarely get to the point when I am so hungry I would eat raw onion, however, I did accidentally eat a small piece of raw garlic thinking it was cheese. More fool me.

Question - why is it when I make anything remotely fancy, while it tastes gorgeous (usually) it looks rubbish? My salsa was virtually brown. Hey ho.

BTW, my Mum told me I looked "elegant" in silhouette and she thought I had lost weight. But she knows I'm on the hypnosis diet so I'm not sure it counts ;-)

Friday, February 03, 2006

A result!

Well for those of you who have been following the beginning of my quest to become slender and smooth again (not sure why I said smooth, it just sounded nice), I have my first concrete result

In the past two weeks, I have lost 4.8lbs. Yes I realise this is a tad specific, but I was using one of those machines that tells you how much fat you've got and how tall you are and everything. Although I was wearing high-heeled boots so it actually thinks I'm 5'5". This is not true. Another positive result - I am one per cent less fatty according to the machine (as in how much of my body weight is made up of fat rather than bone, organs and muscle - hmmm, visceral).

This is not a massive weight loss, but it is a good start. Yay! Also, I bought a pedometer from the chemists (had to receive treatment for an unwanted UTI - grrr - and it was only two quid) and for the second half of today I did well over 10,000 steps, the recommended number. Well, buy me a cake and call me thin!

If I kept losing weight at this rate, how long would it theoretically take until I vanished altogether? Just a thought. Probably a long while.

Anyway, to everyone on a diet - don't let it take over your life and don't beat yourself up if you eat some pie. Cos pie is nice :-)

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Burning questions

Here are today's burning questions...
1. Why has someone dug two large holes in the middle of a vacant shop premises in the town High Street?
2. Where should I get my hair cut?
3. Should we refer to Brokeback Mountain as the gay cowboy film or a cowboy romance?
4. Why did someone leave a small, tidy bag of rubbish on my desk this morning?
5. Is Bleak House going to be the first Charles Dickens book that I can actually read all the way through without hurling it at the wall in disgust and anger?
6. Is anyone at work logging the fact that I spend a fair portion of every day sneakily blogging?
7. What is that crane doing over there?
8. Where have I put my bank pass book and if I've lost it are they going to be a bit peeved that I'm asking for another one just a few months after I got the last one?
9. Can I afford to spend £24.99 on a really cool jewellery dummy?
10. Which are better, prawns or olives?

All answers (particularly inappropriate ones) welcomed.