I got a bout
of ‘the munchies’ late yesterday afternoon. You know, the kind of gnawing that
only a certain food can assuage. It must have been four-ish; an afternoon-tea kind
of hunger.
The morning
and noon had been spent slaving over a keyboard; I needed to get over a certain
hill, metaphorically speaking. As is often the case, I missed lunch.
Upon
completion of my goal but before the habitual editing, I got up from my chair,
stretched, walked over to the French windows and threw them wide open. I was pleasantly
surprised to find warm sunshine and the hum of flying insects in the
garden.
On the way
upstairs to the kitchen of my up-side-down house I considered the available
gastronomic alternatives: hot buttered toast and damson jam, an apple and a
chunk of Comte, a sour cherry and apricot flapjack, blueberries and a large dollop
of crème-fraize, apple pie and vanilla ice-cream. Mmmmm.
I decided on
dark chocolate digestive biscuits; yes, that kind of hunger!
While
rummaging in the pantry I spied a packet of Californian raisins and attacked
the ‘keep fresh re-seal’ strip like someone possessed. Big and juicy, the dark
soft fruits hit the button. I popped one in my mouth and thrilled at the sweet
smoky sensation. While searching for a bowl, my eye was caught by an unopened
packet of KP salted peanuts. (No other brands available) The perfect
accompaniment; salty and dry with the sweet and soft of the raisins. I found a
bowl, poured in sufficient nuts and raisins and hurried down the stairs to begin editing my piece.
I stumbled
on the final turn of the stair and spilled some of my precious cargo.
Annoyed for
the delay, I picked up the fallen fruits and eventually settled at my desk to
read my work, while licking sticky fingers.
With the
editing incomplete, the saltiness had worked up a thirst. I knew I had to make
a cup of green tea; fresh and cleansing. As I mounted the bottom step of the
stair I saw a raisin that I had not picked up earlier. Without thinking I
picked it up in forefinger and thumb, popped it into my mouth and continued up
stairs. Anyone would have done the same I imagine.
As I bit repeatedly
into the raisin I knew there was something very wrong. I chewed once more then spat
the now masticated thing into the palm of my hand. To my horror I was looking
at the remains of a recently expired blue-bottle fly; legs and bits of wings
and the pussey remains of its blue-black body were clearly visible.
Somehow I
managed to get to the kitchen sink before vomiting and afterwards swigged down
several litres of water.
Once I had
composed myself, I binned the California raisins and vowed half-heartedly, never to snack between meals again.
