After a busy few days of having to endure real life and earn moolah so I can keep the household residents in parsley and plastic tat, I finally have time to write a blog entry. In fact, that whole busy-busy-busy malarky reminds me how much I appreciate a break halfway through, albeit a very short, temporary one. There are few better things for a working man with a strong limbic system than a nice dinner in the middle of a hard day (other than some sex and a cool beer at the end of it, maybe).
Mmm . . . sex and beer . . .
Sorry, where was I. Oh yes. Dinner.
Being on a health kick lately, I have eschewed my usual routine of forgetting to take lunch with me and then buying some high fat, butter-endowed pastry concoction of artery-clogging loveliness, and have instead been taking in some pre-cooked home-made meals all ready to be microwaved.
I consider cookery to be heating things up. I'm quite good with raw toast and have been known to slice cheese quite thinly, but other than that I'm not what you'd call a natural in the kitchen. So, being ignorant in the culinary arts I was, of course, intially sceptical. How could that very hot cupboard in my kitchen, apparently called an oven, compete with the almighty power of Ginsters and their ethereal pie-magic? That was until my good lady wife demonstrated the power of quality cooking, and gave me a hot and frankly delicious chilli to take in. It was lovely, filling and, amazingly, quite good for me. And no pie can compete with a chilli, even a healthy one.
Although, what about Chilli Pie? No, I mustn't contemplate such things. That way madness lies.
It's going well, this eating stuff from home lark. It's better for me, it's more economical and it makes me look like I care about what I eat, so my colleagues think I'm a strong, decisive character. Soon, I will no doubt be given a raise by managers nodding in admiring unison at my perceived competence.
Unfortunately, this effect was rather spoiled when, with hunger gnawing at the very marrow of my being, I dropped my pasta 'n home-made sauce down the back of the works fridge:
So, after a rapid clean-up (which involved moving the refrigerator a foot to the right whilst whistling nonchalantly), I made a quick visit to a local eatery, and after perusing the offers of salads and fruit, opted for a Cornish pasty. Made of cow and lard. Vegetables were represented by some stilton, as this has mould on it.
It would seem that good intentions regarding my own health and welfare are merely a thin veneer coating a chassis of self-destructive greed and short-sighted gluttony.
Mmm . . . self-destructive greed and short-sighted gluttony. . .
I don't think I'm the only person suffering this lack of moral fibre, but plenty of people manage to overcome it, sometimes for two or three weeks at a time. So my plan for the future is not to fall at the first hurdle, but to try and eat a bit more healthily as much as I can, although it's a well known historical fact that plans can survive anything except direct contact with reality.
Still, I can but try.
Right, I'm off for a curry.