27. UTTERLY BUTTERY

Phoebe Weller of Valhalla’s Goat in Glasgow is fasting intermittently. The intermissions often involve a dirty squashed croissant that polite people know as a rowie whether we’re closed, yes, yes we are. I’m also indulging and squeezing dry American customers in stealth sales, best performed on a stomach that’s been empty for 14 hours. pleasing ricochet effects, the greatest being a kind of Kyle Vibe that occurs between 12pm and 4pm which happily coincides with my infrequent although existent “working hours”. People are being very kind to me just now and I intend to take advantage of this as much as possible, by layering in – much like lard into a buttery – long periods of self-enforced withholding from food. I’m a bit cheekier. I have a mad look in my eye. I’m telling the customers who come in at 2pm and ask

Just when you think it will never come, 4pm strikes, and with it excess. Yesterday I had a bowl of giant Wotsits with melted cheese, and guacamole dip to break my fast.

Magnificent, much better than tortilla chips and all lacy with microwaved cheese. On Sunday, Ann brought in the much and justly heralded Ottolenghi spicy pork and mushroom lasagne, and some squirrelledaway stollen bread-and-butter pudding which, when I suggested the addition of cream, was met with, “You’re wild today, Phoebe!” Yes I am, raar.

I ate the butteries. Two, pleasingly doorstopping the excellent Lidl Mortadella (thanks Mike), Co-op Edam and a sprinkling of grated carrot.

Other benefits of this diet include shouting at long-suffering Tony “where’s my fucking dinner, I only have 43 minutes left” when I get in after work. He has wisely taken to having a walk between 9pm and 10pm.