Sometimes, you have to stand by your decisions as an adult.  Like cutting your own fringe or deciding that fondant fancies for breakfast and diet coke for dinner is a totally acceptable diet.  I stand by the word “quickles”. A filthy, amalgamation of the words quick and pickles.  The Brangelina of the brined cucumber word. …

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I’ve always been envious of cook-offs.  Chilli cook-offs and barbecue cook-offs.  You don’t see that in the UK. You don’t see the British people taking over a Sainsbury’s car park with their cars, open flames and tanks of calor gas.  You don’t hear shrieks of “OOOooowWeee! We’re cooking with GAS”.  With the obligatory cooler filled …

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