I'm on another train. I feel a bit sick. I've had two slices of fruit cake. It's my own fault. I was consoling myself; making up for the fact I couldn't buy a bacon sandwich.
I could have had a panini. They are not the same.
A bacon sandwich has an iconic quality. The Stonehenge of food. As British as Windsor Castle and the White Cliffs of Dover. Brown sauce, or ketchup? Neither. It's a heathen thought.
British bacon, white bread, runny butter.... cholesterol count, probably stratospheric. If you work in public health, please look away now!
A panini isn't the same. Pallid and lifeless. You have to wrestle a bacon sandwich and risk the butter ruining your tie.
A panini is just crumbs pretending to be bread. And, have you noticed; the bacon never pokes out of the sides? Why is that?
I'll tell you; what ever it is inside a panini has never been found on a pig. Symmetric, oblong rashers, made in a factory; not in sunny field and a diet of acorns and pasture.
Panini... please, yer 'yer avin a larf.
I confess I do see part of the attraction. The cellophane wrappers do make them easy to eat whilst walking up the high street. Quite why anyone should want to eat anything walking up the high street is, frankly, beyond me but I guess that is an age thing. Mobile phone in one hand and a panini in the other.
Eating on the go, convenience food... de rigueur. Or, a cup of Costa carried at right angles to the body, shoulders slightly hunched, carried with the reverence of the incense-boy at mass.
The way we live, today...
Get up in the morning, run through the shower. Sprint to the station. Mercifully there is a Costa on the station. A cappuccino and one of free-trade nutty bar things.
No calories in free-trade stuff.
Arrive at the office, fire up the computer, cuppa-builder's and crack open the Hobnobs.
No calories in anything consumed whilst working... they all get burned up instantly by hard thinking.
Lunchtime, off to a Pret. A panini, a flat white and bag of those rock-salt and balsamic vinegar crisps.
No calories in any food consumed whilst walking or standing up. Gravity takes care of it.
Afternoon, some water... important not to get dehydrated. Maybe a cuppa and finish off the Hobnobs.
On the way home, I'll buy you a Sauvignon in Giovanni's. You return the favour and we polish off a plate of those chilli-spiced nuts. Mmmm delish!
Grapes and nuts... two of the five-a-day.
Home, straight to the freezer. A meal for one from Marks and Sparks straight into the microwave.
Sad, I know but on the bright side, there are no calories in anything from Marks.
Then, to the greatest invention of the 20th century. The screw-top bottle of wine. No more wrestling with the corkscrew. Make sure the meal's doing ok; pour a glass and watch the cottage pie and green beans circle the microwave.
Potatoes and beans; two more of the five-a-day.
Get a fork, don't bother with a plate, it just has to be washed up and all that soap and fossil fuel burning to heat the water is ruining the planet. A glass or two, watch a bit of telly, Facebook, Twitter... only half a glass left.
Best finish it off before it goes off...
A coffee and a rummage in the fridge. A little bit of gold foil tucked under the butter and the bacon; the remains of a bar of 70% free-trade fruit and nut chocolate.
Thank goodness. Raisins, the final five-a-day.
Off to bed, get up and do it all again tomorrow.
Calories for the day? Three thousand? Actual requirement? Probably two?
The way we live. Quite what the public health brigade are going to do about it, I dunno. They could tax biscuits, close coffee shops and put the corks back in wine bottles. Ban lifts in building will less than ten floors? Put scales by bus stop; you get weighed before you get on; to heavy, you have to walk.
We could pass a planning rule making all chips shop doorways eighteen inches wide... only skinny ones could get in.
Public health? I think we'd better have a word with St Jude.
