welcome to my wooley cave.

so, when I say to people… I don’t care for food. I really do mean it. Food is a fuel to me. Its an annoyance, its something I have to do, to get through the night without waking up hungry. I care not for what it looks like, what it tastes like, how much it costs, where it comes from, how its cooked, who cooks it, how it compares to the previous meal, if its over cooked, under cooked, if its made from out of date ingredients, whether its baked, boiled or nuked to death.

I can’t get excited about it. A great feed to me is a cheap sausage roll from a Esso garage…. and a fancy meal in a nice restaurant is great too. But I don’t value either of them any more or less. Tho, if I have to think about it, what makes me choose one over the other? Probably the layer of blubbery stuff around my belly. Probably the one which is faster to eat. yeah that’ll be it. The sooner I can be done eating and get back to doing something more interesting the better. The worst feeling in the world to me is a bloated stomach, I hate that… but y’see my eyes are bigger than my belly… I blame the council estate upbringing, whereby we (the bro’s) were starved to death, and then we bolted down whatever was put in front of us, before someone else nicked it off our plates. That’s kinda hard to snap out of.

So yeah, is it a ‘bad mark’ habit? no…. not really. I think its a good thing. Its what food is really about imo… its not entertainment. Its a neanderthal moment… I’m clinging on to.

Sometimes I wear a hat, so I can be in my ‘cave’ too… its cool there. Its all dark and wooley. 


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