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How dare you call my mother a fat tart?

The flavour is perfectly balanced but savage - most salt and vinegar snacks don't turn me on much but these have a peculiar taste all of their own. I can happily douse chips from the chippy in vinegar until it runs from the cone like a slug's trail as I walk and chomp.

The man was a proper warp-head. What's just as bad is the fix-up that let him have his wicked way for so long. I'd not put anything past him.

I'd be off to Bentley's for a fish dinner.

Tenuous link, but I thought these things had disappeared along with my childhood, until recently I found them almost hidden in an unexpected Sainsbury's aisle. Glad to find they're as mouth-puckeringly stringent as they ever were. Only 2 packs remained there tonight so I bought both. In fact I probably bought the rest since we were reunited. Bloody love them and how they coat my fingers with a second reward of power-flavour.

What is it with all these whopper footballers with 'shaved' fake side partings?

#bellwipes

The whole pitch is a stage these days - got to live up to that gorgeous Belgian strip too.

Keys, Gray, Platt, Heskey and Moyes.

Keys and Gray are the Simon and Garfunkel of punditry, but without the worldwide esteem - they just skipped right to the being privately hateful of each other part. I can remember Platt coming for dinner at a Nottingham restaurant I cooked at yonks back, but he won't as his refined right-peg consumes his Midlands brain. Heskey says too much by staying silent and Moyes is the type to find Louis Walsh inspirational. A panel with bottom-of-the-barrel aspirations.

I've been enjoying Martin O'Neill on ITV, but apart from him it's a load of tripe. Ian Wright still can't quite believe his luck at being invited again, but not as much as I can't believe he's paid to sit there in shirts as bad as his remarks. Hoddle's not yet dropped to his knees and blessed Adrian Chiles, so apart from his sunglasses and ugly knees he's OK by me. The BBC win in the panel department, as they do with their captions and graphics, which are as equally important in World Cup broadcasting as a programme's titles and theme music.

Boring game.

Plain old horrible bastard. All the world's media at the biggest tournament in football and he bites another player again. There's no legislating for it or him. He can get to fuck. If Zidane was still around and had been the victim then reacted as he did to Materazzi, maybe Suarez would finally get the kind of shock that works.

Price drops on 3T and plastic saddle, cog, freewheel and a pair of pedals.

My sister in law and husband have lived up round 7S and turn pike for a while now, they like it and have been brining up there young son there...

They're sloppier than I'm used to as well and have been each time I've been there (only a few). Toppings slide off and the wringing base becomes easy to roll tightly, rather than bend or snap. It results in a dismantling of each slice and a scooping up with the fingers of jumbled topping, rather than it and the base being eaten together. But it's a fair trade for how Mediterranean the whole thing makes me feel, sitting on my arse by a busy Ealing road.

Dibs NOS Silva tape x 2.

Photoben maybe on Mare Street certainly, then later howradmichello perhaps weaving through Victoria Park for sure.

‘70s – chaise lounge.

‘80s – greenhouse.

‘90s – New Labour wallpaper.

‘00s – Kevin McCloud’s ejaculation.

‘10s – scene neighbours.

Estate agents being the one constant, adaptable land predators that they are.

^^I've never seen a dung beetle win Mastermind.

Yep. Too greedy. Great stuff now.

What a finish.

That's how you head a ball. Fire it up, Ghana.

Argentine fans amazing in this game

As they were down my local. I couldn't understand a word they said but enjoyed listening to every animated second of it.

Had to reacquaint myself with the better half earlier. All this football's the best kind of distraction.

^^Also saw Yas earlier. No skid though. People need to stop thinking for themselves and do my bidding.

Savage needs strangling.

Come on then Italy. Think of us instead of yourselves.

Crème brûlée Häagen-Dazs is not good. Crème brûlée on its own is unimprovable. I can't stand it being farted about with - adding lavender or whatever. I had a laughable interpretation of it in Ireland recently from a kitchen just cottoning on to nouvelle cuisine presentation, ideas and naff sugar-work, while the rest of the world have long forgotten it. So, this yoghurt makes me angry.

Normal life continues. The Ladbroke Grove pub casuals carry on trying to pull women through their slurs and Greece still need banning from international sport of all kinds.

Fuck me England - played two, lost the pair. 100% self-harm record.

^^No blame on Hart for the second goal. Suarez smashed the ball hard enough for anyone to dodge it.