Happy Days

It’s been nearly 1 year since Happiness Stan last posted a post. I lost my mojo. Gave up. Couldn’t be arsed, so to speak. But give a guy a break. In that time I (we) have:

  • Moved house (major trauma)
  • Changed jobs (but not company) – even more major trauma and I still never know what the next day will bring
  • Oh, and adopted some children (major total mega what-the-frickety-frick trauma)

Because of these major life-changing events (you know, those kinds of events you read about in the news where somebody loses a major body part in a terrorist attack where they refer to it as life changing but….

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Moving

It’s been some time since the Happiness that is Happiness Stan saw fit to write something. For Happiness Stan has been about as happy as a fart in a thunderstorm. Not happy. Not happy at all.

I could go into the intricate details surrounding this lack of happiness….and i will.

Moving. To be specific. Selling one house and then buying another. And then moving from the former to the latter. They say that moving is akin to dying*. And it is. At various times death would have been a…sorry I’ve been distracted whilst the wife is singing along to a live TV version of the Sound of Music…It’s okay she’s gone to get some wine. Anyway back to my point…death would have been a sweet release. The issue?

*(I made that up but it is true)

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Wild Pig, Black Pudding and Breakfasts that ‘set in’

Previously on Happiness Stan…

I went to the butchers and they were slightly annoying.

So a month or so ago we set off shopping, but decided to explore the more rural parts, south of where we live, looking for somewhere different to acquire some bacon and eggs.

We ended up in deepest darkest Surrey (about 5 miles from home).

Here the locals speak in strange dialects, and wild pigs forage for truffles (this may or may not be true, the shop staff we spoke to didn’t have strange dialects, although that might have been because they weren’t local – they could have been bused in from Northern France – and I didn’t spot any pigs, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there, hiding their truffles).

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Deepest, darkest Surrey…

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Of Psychotic Jack o’lanterns and Brownie melt-downs

I don’t think I know, or even care, what Halloween is about anymore. It’s like something to do with something about some pagan ritual. Or is it something to do with saving our souls from pagan rituals. Or is it about warding off the second coming of the son of St Pumpkin.

Actually isn’t it a nod to the founding fathers staving off the attack of some indigenous peoples who were encroaching on a field of butternut squash? No, fool; Halloween is recognition of Jack Nicholson dealing with Susan Sarandon and Michelle Pfiefer. At the same time. Period.

Whatever, Halloween is a good excuse to do stupid things to vegetables. It isn’t really a good excuse to make a mess with chocolate, but I propose introducing the latter as a new traditional activity.

So this Halloween we proceeded to make Chocolate Mallow Brownies. And also get busy on a couple of pumpkins. At the same time.

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Forget American Horror Story, this is where the terror begins…

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