Saturday, March 22, 2003

I woke up this morning [OK, this afternoon] half-lying on a plastic bag from the 24-hour shop on West End Lane. Examining its contents, I discovered:
  • 1 package of Emmentaler slices [Swiss cheese. Manufacturer: Toni. Swiss Toni.]
  • 1 packet of full-roast ground coffee [taste guide 5: "strong"]
  • 1 jar of Georgian orange marmalade [taste guide 7: "challenging"]
  • 1 package of Roquefort blue cheese [taste guide: fucking toxic]
  • 1 tub of Brussels paté ["smooth pork and pork liver paté"]
  • One loaf of spongy white sliced Sunblest
  • The Guardian

    The paté had been opened, and half of its contents had been eaten, showing signs of having been gouged out with folded-up slices of bread. What is it with food you'd only buy when you're drunk, and only in a 24-hour shop? And why the craving for intense flavours? The paté may explain why I feel like shit today. Then again, the bottle of Shiraz [taste guide: "blackberry, plum, leather, freshly-turned earth, licorice and violet"] and six pints of Kronenbourg [taste guide: stale vomit] at Club Kali [taste guide: a Wembley three-piece lounge suite] may have something to do with it.
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