Telling Stories
LUNCH Savs It's Saturday morning, 05:05, and I’m standing in my kitchen sprinkling micro rocket over ham rolls and feeling for all the world like a Michelin-level chef. “Micro rocket”, I tell myself, “you classy bugger, you”. You’d never say it to look at my not inconsiderable girth, but food is low on my list of priorities. I could eat a burger from my favourite place three times a day, forever, and never think twice about it. Indeed, for several years my onstream lunches, such as they were, were a few bars of something called “Race Food”. I would buy them at the garage shop on the way to the stream as I stopped for my habitual pre-dawn coffee. As far as food goes they’re bloody horrible but, I assured myself, until that wonderful day when science fiction becomes reality and I can take a capsule every few hours they’re the next best thing. They were developed for marathon runners who need an occasional meal but who don’t have the time to stop to eat or, I think more accurately (and to not put too fine a point on it), crap. They’re a small, perfect-to-eatin-one-gulp-between-casts, calorie dense, chocolate bar looking little thing. Don’t be fooled, they taste exactly like the bodily function that they're designed to repress, but they get the job done (provided that the job is one that needs to be done quickly and without any lasting satisfaction). When it comes to meals while angling there are two distinct schools of thought. I’m of the “stay one step ahead of death” school. I’m not entirely Bear Grylls about the whole thing (for instance, I carry sufficient drinking water) but I’m also certainly not of the “cast thine gaze yonder, there stands a comfortable tree - let us perambulate hither and sojourn in it’s ample shade to enjoy a light al fresco luncheon” school either. Truth be told, the school to which you align is not something that anyone really consciously decides, so I’m comparing rather than judging. Like political beliefs or sexual orientation it’s just an instance where one leans naturally to either the left or the right as a result, perhaps, of a trick of nature or nurture.
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