Friday, 1 September 2017

Ed Sheeran appeared on my dinner plate.

I don't get Ed Sheeran. 

I find his music derivative, unexciting, cliched and lyrically vapid.

I had quite a heated debate when I tried to put this point across to a bunch of unimpressed Sheeran fans at a family gathering.

I was firmly rebuked for not having musical taste.

That evening my wife had cooked a rather delicious stir fry.
At the end of the meal my plate was swimming in soy sauce. 

Not one to let good flavours go to waste, I raised the plate to my mouth and slurped the remaining sauce. 

I placed the plate down and to my horror I found a gloating, evil Ed Sheeran staring back at me.

I took this to be a sign to do two things. 
To keep my musical opinions to myself. 
And to put less soy sauce on my Chinese food.

The thought of inviting Ed Sheeran around to apologize did cross my mind. 

But I reached for Frank Zappa's Weasels Ripped My Flesh album instead.

Here is the undoctored picture. 

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