You know, Gentle Reader, a few weeks ago someone said I looked like one Jamie Oliver.
I let it go, only ever having seen Mr Oliver on the cover of his book The Naked Chef.

Of course this person -- unidentified here because of his eyesight and/or mental problems -- is quite wrong.
I look nothing like the Naked Chef.
I wish I were a) that cute and b) able to cook that well.
I can only wish he thought I was that nice.
Judging from pictures of the event this could be true [fantasy, fantasy but I'm at rock bottom Reader: seriously] as there is one of him leering at my backside. And no, you can't see it or any other pictures because they are all Stunningly Bad. One wonders what affected the Dorothy Parker* fan to post them. They'll blind the innocent who'll view them.

I made gingerbread men today and it was scarring.
I felt like an evil god, culling the weak, sick and deformed gingerbread men to be reformed as new, perfect gingerbread men. And of course they all came out funky after baking anyway. They had swollen limbs and conjoined heads. It was like a little gingerbread freakshow.
And Gentle Reader, you don't even want to know what the icing was like. I thought "Ah yes, I'll use a bit of grenadine to turn the icing from white to pink." Turns out the icing was blood red.

*Does that make her a DP fan? Or a fan of DPs?