24th June - Chicken Boy



I've amassed a number of nicknames over the years. There have, of course, been the classic play on actual name nicknames... Jakey G, Gaybz, Jobble, Gobble, Jable, etc. Then there are the ones which come from moments of hilarity, or characteristic traits. There was 'Cleesh' at Uni, on account of the regularity with which I'd thrown cliches into my writing. Before that, there was 'Patches', on account of my somewhat mad-cap decision to cut my own hair with a pair of scissors in a bathroom at a wild house party in the Summer of 2008.

In more recent times, I've even been titled 'Willy Boy' by my reluctant Fiancee who cringes every time we go to the local Tesco Express and I opt to pop on my thin-material sports shorts, which - when worn with no boxers underneath - offer a unique and revealing outline of my member, much to the amusement of the female cashiers who end up gawping at the unexpected item in my (tea)bagging area. However, 'Willy Boy' has since been upgraded to 'Chicken Boy', on account of my psychopathic obsession with the King of the white meats. 




My obsession with Chicken started at a relatively young age. Outgrowing the familiarity of the 'nuggets & chips' kids meals in public settings, I once marvelled in delight at the age of 8 or 9, when walking into our familiar haunt of 'The Hatchet' in Newbury. Behind the greeter's head was a giant flame-grill, with featured a giant roast chicken spinning around on the spit. Maybe the chicken was a normal size, looking back. But I was so small I just thought it was massive. Anyway, that day, I told my Father I wanted the chicken for lunch, and so upgraded to an 'adult meal', demolishing a half-roast chicken soaked in gravy, and blackmailing him into giving me a fiver to eat my carrots as I'd seen a Star Wars annual I wanted in WH Smiths for £4.99 earlier on in the day. Alan Sugar, eat your heart out. 

Since those days, chicken has remained the one constant in my life. Ask my favourite food and I'll fire back within milliseconds. People always look bemused. "Just chicken... Anything else?". Nope. Roast. Fried. Grilled. Do what you want with it, I'll eat it. Chicken Sunday roast, chicken bolognese, chicken burgers, chicken fajitas, chicken and pasta, or my current favourite - on account of needing to shed some more pounds following a binge-month in Hungary and the Caribbean - Pulled chicken breasts, coated in chilli & garlic salt, black pepper, and peri seasoning, shredded, and thrown into a bowl of basmati rice, mixed round with a load of sriracha mayo. And that...




... Is why they call me 'Chicken Boy'.



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