Since I know that some of you identify, to some degree, with the weird relationship that is me and food I thought I would share this morning with you.
This morning started with a visit to the dentist, something way up on my list of experiences I would rather not endure. I book the first appointment of the day since my dentist only works in this practice on a day when I also have deliveries and, true to form, the dentist arrives some time after me.
After a check around that felt reassuringly inexpensive the dentist starts calling out terms like “vertical fracture” and “fissure” and then suggests that x-rays would be a good idea as we have not done some for a few years. Obviously this sounds like the best idea in the world and I almost plead with him to do them immediately after all we need to know what is going on don’t we?
Two x-rays and a couple of minutes perusal later and he proudly proclaims that all is good. The initial thrill of a clean bill of health is somewhat tempered by the experience of paying the bill but there is still a spring in my step as I leave the surgery. It is only as I walk down the road that I have cause to wonder, when he calls out the scary words does anyone actually record them? Or is this some sort of ‘scary word’ bingo?
As we lay there we presume that the nurse is carefully recording this assessment and the list of scary words but we can’t actually see her can we? Perhaps she is playing a video game and the words are mere bluff, used to encourage you into hasty purchases? Like when you trade a car in and the trader mutters about suspension, corrosion and the like, all a ploy to lower the value.
So having concluded that I have probably been tucked up by the dentist or indeed the whole profession I headed off to the shops. Obviously no breakfast before the dentist so I was rather hungry and, as you know. I don’t really keep much in the house.
First stop was the supermarket where my mental list included milk, breakfast and something for dinner. Having perused the aisles I felt the pointless but unstoppable rage building inside me. Of course I didn’t want bloody sausages, those biscuits are just tasteless palm oil really where is the sensible food? Suddenly a slab of cheese becomes pure fat and bread is a doughy manufactured mess, despite the fact that I eat all of these things regularly. I curtailed my inexplicable rage sufficiently to purchase the milk, something I am quite proud of.
On the leaving the supermarket I head straight into the shop where most items cost a pound. Straight to the food section I contemplate a multi-pack of crackers, crisps or cake slices, they will at least see me through the day. Have you seen the rubbish that they sell? I know it’s the same rubbish that I normally have no issue consuming but today oh my word its horrific and I leave empty handed, almost fleeing in fact.
Back home to tackle the morning’s chores and orders but first off its time for a cup of tea and, since there is little else, some toast. The butter is a tad firm and starts to tear at the toast but, miraculously, my small repast survives and I eat half of the toast before deciding that the sound is intolerable and discarding the rest.
Some hours later and after placing the days orders and completing most of my tasks I realise that I remain hungry. A couple of people have recently raved about the sausage rolls at one of the little snack bars nearby and I am, normally, partial to a sausage roll. Before the delivery arrives I shoot out to visit said venue and even manage to queue patiently in the rain to get across the road.
Money in my pocket I approach the door and in front of me I can see the standard display fridge with sandwich fillings and I am suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t want a roll full of chicken mayo drooling over my chin what an awful thought. I am turning on my heel even as my eyes try and seek out the sight of a sausage roll. To be honest it would make no difference if I had seen the sausage roll, it would have appeared as an oily fat laden mess unfit for consumption.
As I walked indoors I was berating myself and cursing my stupidity even as I made a cup of tea and settled into the knowledge that with the pub open I couldn’t eat. Before you post me food parcels rest assured that this evening I have eaten dinner. I had chicken and tomato spicy pasta, all cooked fresh. In some way though this remains a ‘punishment’ to myself in that I used only the limited ingredients at home since I proved unable to negotiate the simple task of grocery shopping.
I will leave that post out there and wait for the avalanche of ‘me too’ messages….
