Careful what you eat between meals.

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.