Title: One Way Ticket To Hell (And Unfortunately Back). PQ: I caught the eye of Justin Hawkins and shook my head. Tom Geddes, Music Editor On Tuesday 15th March, after years of speculation, pleading to the contrary and several sightings of a horseman of the apocalypse, the gates of hell opened and out from the […]
When one has the opportunity to create ever cake that one desires, there is only one logical decision that one could possibly choose to take – to create a Godzilla.
Use a sieve to dust with icing sugar for a homey/rustic look.
I like my pubs filled with interesting things to stare at for when the conversation drivels out, the Lass O’Gowrie delivers on that front; the entire pub is filled with all kinds of strange memorabilia, with giant portraits of Lando Calrissian and models of Sir Kill-a-lot
The idea of simply eating slabs of raw fish makes me feel somewhat uneasy – thus I hasten to stress that this is not what sushi is all about.
On Sunday night we howl
And dry toast, and hardbook books
Nothing is spoken
I once found myself in a most peculiar state. I had been out for the night and having quite aptly quenched my thirst, I had the usual burning desire for the embrace of my true love – the doner kebab. However, my fairytale ending was not to be as I was all out of cash and thus an unworthy pauper in the eyes of my betrothed. Now what? I could not simply go to bed unsatisfied. So I toddled back to my home and entered my kitchen searching for a remedy.
Smother onto cupcakes and top with something suitably American like tiny chocolate stars or tiny pieces of Reese’s peanut butter confectionery.
They came from far and wide; the brave and the bold, the hungry and the famished. All to compete in what was is now infamous Mancunion Cake-off.
If you like you can add the hippos, lime and orange zest at this point so it looks like a scene straight from the African plains. Also those hippos are really tasty.
The food so good they named it twice. Couscous is the lazy man’s rice/pasta/porridge/kebab.
Each day opens slowly | but the nights are folded up | and concentrated.
This is Manchester
The cotton mill roar in his voice
As the show started, and timid guitars gathered together to create a melancholic atmosphere, a fellow spectator echoed my thoughts and turned to ask: “Is this Wolf People?” Yet undeniably, it was. This minimal, almost shy entrance was immediately juxtaposed by the introduction of the anthemic ‘Silbury Sands’ and a raw, guitar-based aggression was installed. At times I found myself returning to the heavy rock heaven of the early ‘70s and, dare I say it, a slight tinge of Led Zeppelin was evident in certain moments, as towering guitar riffs and booming bass lines resonated throughout the jam-packed Deaf Institute.