Last night Mr Morose said to me, "Oh, I read that draft post about the cider recipe. It's really, really shit."
It actually hurt my feelings that he said that because I liked my post. I just feel stupid now for taking pictures and everything. But balls to him, I'm posting it anyway. He's just jealous because I have 48% more moustache hair than he has.
So, about the recipe; I think I'll call this drink 'Cale' - that's cider-ale. Or Aider. Some people call it 'Lambswool', but that just sounds retarded. You can call it whatever you like. I don't care.
But I do care that you try and make this. It's in-cred-ible.
You'll need: 4 pints of ale, some sugar, 3 cloves, a couple of cinnamon sticks and four, big, fuck-off apples. You'll also need a grown-up to work the oven.
Step one. Peel and core the apples whilst pretending they're Mr Morose's face. I used cooking apples because they're about the same size as his stupid head. If you're under 37 I doubt you even own an apple corer, but you can just use something short and thin to poke the hole through. I used Mr Morose's penis.
You can ignore those orange things on the chopping board; I was making other stuff at the same time that's probably too complicated for you to understand.
Next, ask the grown-up to work the oven. Tell them you need to cook the apples for 40 minutes at 180 degrees C.
Meanwhile, think about how much you hate Mr Morose for hurting your feelings and heat the ale in a big pot with about three tablespoons of sugar, the cloves and the cinnamon sticks. Do this slowly for about 20 minutes as you say swear words over and over in your brain. And remember: only a nincompoop would let this boil.
I like to imagine that these apples are actually different parts of Mr Morose's corpse that I'm now cooking in my oven because I've gone completely mental and there's no turning back.
Okay! How exciting is this? You now need to squash these with a fork. I know it looks like snotty mash potato, but trust me; it'll taste like Princess Amildala's underpants. If you struggle with this part, just pretend that you're killing Mr Morose even more than you have already and the violence in your shaking hands will do all the hard work for you.
Then you need to squeeze them through a sieve to make a nice purée. I love that word. 'Puuuure-rée'. Brilliant. But perhaps not quite as brilliant as your new life without Mr Morose as your only friend.
Then mix the squished apples in with the hot ale (it'll fizz like you're boiling sherbet, but hang tough with it). When it's hot like a cup of tea is hot, you're ready to drink. It's best to show this off to your new friends that tell you that you never needed Mr Morose in the first place.
Just look how happy my brand-new pal Janine is that I made this stuff (note: that's a mud facial mask):