Tomorrow is Good Friday! WOOHOO!
I’m not really a religious sort but Good Friday has special significance to me. My stomach, specifically. My friend Jane makes the most incredible hot cross buns on the planet and for the past three Easters we’ve got an email a few days beforehand inviting us over for Annual Bun Day.
I think her trusty recipe comes from an Australian Women’s Weekly cookbook. Each year I look forward to that moment when I walk into her flat and get smacked in the nose by that cinnamon fug. And there they are, fat and shiny and snug in a heavy old cake tin. There’s always heaps of butter and endless pots of Earl Grey Tea. I think I ate a good half dozen buns last year.
I thought there wouldn’t be an Annual Bun Day this year as Jane gave birth to a handsome baby boy just ten days ago. But yesterday we got The Email. It’s ON, baby! I couldn’t believe it! Baking would be the last thing on my mind if I had just popped out a sprog. I’m awe of my friends and their commitment to Easter traditions.
Good Friday is also about fish. I have many miserable memories of Good Friday, sitting at the dinner table long after everyone else had finished, whinging and stabbing at congealed fish with a fork. You’d think if we had to pretend to be good Christians once a year, we could have had fish fingers or something easy to digest. Why did it always have to be sensible fish with bones and stuff? Wah.
But I discovered a whole new level of piscine loathing on Good Friday 1999 when I was working in the fish and chip shop. Good Friday is the busiest day on the takeaway calendar, naturally. I had been promoted to Chief Fryer and fried 480 pieces of fish that day. We kept a tally on a chalkboard, smeared with flour and grease. It was 35 degrees inside the shop and a good ten degrees higher over the gurgling oil. And I was a hefty lass by then, so you can imagine how bloody exhausting it was. I never wanted to see another piece of fish again. But somehow I managed to fit in two pieces of fish and extra large chips for my dinner, being a good Catholic and all!
Speaking of fish, I have to tell you about Danny. He was a supremely buff bloke featured on Baby-Faced Bodybuilders the other night. Yes, the wacky dudes at BBC Three again. At the tender age of seventeen Danny managed fourth place in the Mr Universe competition. It involved a helluva lot of hard work, sacrifice, fake tan and FISH.
If you have a spare minute or two, please go to the website and click on the link in the top right-hand corner that says Watch Clips – Baby-Faced Bodybuilders. A wee video player will pop up so you can witness Danny, deep in thought as he outlines his daily meal schedule while he’s preparing for competition. It’s the most unintentionally hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. Gareth and I cackled when we saw it on the telly and have watched it a dozen times since and I love it more every time. Or maybe there is something wrong with me. Oh well.
Whether you’re into Easter or not, have a great weekend everyone! See you on the other side of my carbohydrate coma.