‘In return for one night together, eating proper food with proper gravy.’?
Don’t you just love that subtext that’s supposed to guilt frazzled parents into making sure they have a proper meal ‘together’ with ‘proper’ food and ‘proper’ gravy (by the fucking way, Bisto, your powdery shit from under the fridge isn’t ‘proper’ gravy. That would be the juices from whatever meat you’ve cooked – tricky with a sausage, I grant you – mixed with flour and a drop of wine/cider/sherry/similar. And if you claim to make proper gravy, what’s improper gravy? A cup of the runs?)?
This giant food corporation (RHM) has the bollocks to lecture us about how we bring up and feed our kids? They make Mr. Fucking Kipling cakes! How many extra calories have they piled on the nation’s waistline over the years? How many child-parent arguments have been sparked off by the desire for one more Bakewell Slice? You don’t really fucking care about the fabric of the British family, so don’t try and serve up this mendacious load of shitmongous condescension.
And for the fucking record, sausages aren’t exactly ‘proper food’ either. Unless you buy the expensive ones, they are generally reconstituted abattoir scrapings, as much sawdust and dirt as testicle and eyelid, and pouring your dessicated turd powder over them isn’t going to help.
So, bottom line: you are inconsistent, duplicitous cunts who have tried to leverage the guilt of Britain’s parents by suggesting they have failed in some way if they haven’t done what their kids really want, namely: to sit down in a kitchen with their parents and eat shit in shit sauce.
Thanks for that.