After several weeks of the ‘frozen veg’ diet, I finally fessed up to the fact that I do have a Marks & Spencer voucher. With piece of paper with £10 etched onto it in my hand, I waltzed into the shop and chose £10 worth of fish. Sadly, I was done in by the one thing nobody can forecast.
The 5p you have to pay for plastic bags.
Drinks deals are a bad idea. They make you devolve into a complete other being. Where once a fairly upstanding and good member of society once stood, a whole new beast has been formed.
Slurring wildly, the beast walks forward, into a pillar, then a wall, then a person. He talks at great lengths about his love for pineapples, the war, the shade of mauve on the walls…
He has no concept of healthy living. The thought of a salad and a nice apple are thrown to the back of a mind poisoned with the thoughts of kebabs. Dancing kebabs, waving maracas, in the sun. Wrap that kebab in a naan. Chilli and Mayo is another must. Oh, and two of those.
He knows no social boundaries. A person you looked at once in college is now your best friend. The guy who lives in a house your friend used to live in is now a person you want to share a taxi with.
‘Oh My God! It’s you!’
It was them. And now, someone echelons above you in social standing at school has an even lower opinion of you than they did before. They know your name now. You’re a story. A folklore. The guy who was sick on their feet. Twice.
