16 reasons to love Birdseye Potato Waffles, by Alex Turner

ALEX Turner will headline Glastonbury for the third time this summer with Arctic Monkeys, but how does he feel about processed frozen potato products? Bloody loves ‘em. Why? 

The jingle. I wouldn’t be a songwriter without that line: ‘they’re waffly versatile.’ It blew my head off when I heard it. It’s what made me pick up a guitar.

Consistency. Life changes. Music goes from dance to soul to rock ’n’ roll. Accents become transatlantic. But potato waffles remain constantly, indefatigably the same. That provides me with real comfort.

Versatility. They go with anything. Beans, nuggets, truffle oil.

Toastability. In an aggressively anonymous hotel suite? Your lover halfway around the world? Fear not. Call the receptionist. Demand a toaster. You can make waffles to your heart’s content, and eat them while watching the rain lash the unforgiving Budapest pavement.

Shape. As proud, rigid and upright as a South Yorkshire miner. Trigonometry and taste combine to stunning effect.

Name. Such purity, such clarity. We nearly called the band The Potato Waffles but the lads thought it made fuck all sense, so we went with Arctic Monkeys. In retrospect that was a mistake.

Taste. Crunchy yet fluffy. Firm yet soft. Lather it in ketchup. Fetch me my Fender. I feel a song coming on.

Six to ten minute cooking time. You’re tucking in before track three’s finished on either of our good albums.

Price point. £1.95 a pack. Still. In this economy. An absolute no-brainer, and I say that as someone who is rich as shit.

Packaging. Oh that red box, calling like a siren from the refrigerated section. A fickle crimson mistress winking from the deep-freeze. Never change, my love, never change.

The golden finish. A signature crunch that keeps me coming back. Whether I’m at home or forcing a confused chef at the Chateau Marmot to grill them, they always deliver.

Low in saturated fat. Rock stars wear tight jeans. You shouldn’t ever see a fat rock star. If you do, something has gone very wrong, or in Pete Doherty’s case he’s blessedly off the gear.

Unapologetically working class. I still remember watching my dad put six away after a hard day’s toil. They’re the potato products of the masses.

Staying power. They’ve been around for four decades without turning shit. Not even the Rolling Stones managed that.

Humility. Never got too big for their boots, never went off and did solo albums. Just kept turning up, where they were needed, year on year on year.

Bringing people together. We’ve had difficult times as a band; critical maulings, falling sales, when I made everyone dress like Teddy Boys. But the glue holding this band together is a sit down, a cuppa and a plate of waffles.

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Which type of contraception will ruin sex most for you?

YOU’VE achieved the unachievable, defied the limitations of your body and personality and found someone willing to fuck you regularly. Well done. 

But there’s a real body of scientific evidence linking heterosexual coupling and pregnancy. So you need to use contraception, but which will inhibit your sex life the most?


Perfect for anyone who likes a firm dividing line between foreplay and penetrative sex, and likes to spend it faffing around trying to get the slippery fuckers out of their foil and onto a rapidly deflating dick. Logistically it’s enough to make you go all-oral. But they’re easy to buy and keep around and you bought a 12-pack, so you stick with it.

The pill

The preferred option of men, remembering to take a pill every day is a great way for women to wonder if one simultaneous orgasm every four months is worth it. Forgetful? Paranoid? Or simply not a big fan of STIs? Save yourself the stress as you’ll end up using a condom just in case anyway.


Why not enjoy minor surgery so your boyfriend doesn’t have to pull out just as he’s enjoying himself? After all, there’s no way he’d do the same for you. Getting a contraceptive sewn under your skin is like something in a sci-fi movie, but with superpowers of irregular periods, anxiety, weight gain and getting spunked up while remaining baby-free.


All the stress and more of the mess of a condom, but this time it’s all up to the woman. If you’re confident you’ll still be horny even after you’ve dicked around reapplying spermicide each time you have sex, go ahead and get one. And later, cystitis.


That this is still a popular choice when it promises longer, heavier periods shows how shitty all the other options must be. The upside is once it’s up there you won’t have to think about it! Your boyfriend might though, because he’s repeatedly plunging his dick into a wire trap. It won’t stop him.


Do you trust a man who forgets where his car keys are every fucking day to remember to pull out of you at the moment when he’s at his most distracted? You’ll spend the entire sexual act wondering whether the moment has come and hoping he’s judged it right. He only has to get it wrong once.


A bulletproof contraception method with the added bonus of triggering a crisis of manhood in the gentleman involved. It seems the ideal option to anyone who doesn’t have a penis, but for those who do, there is little more chilling than the thought of someone taking a scalpel to their scrotum. Also, any man who’s had the snip will cheat for sure.

No contraception whatsoever

The most batshit insane and popular option. Think contraception fucks sex up? Try having a child. Introducing a baby into your life so you can snap at each other through a fog of exhaustion and resentment is the most effective of contraception of all.