| DAY SEVEN I am halfway through the diet.. and I am not dead. That for me is an achievement. I also havent strayed once.. which makes me quite proud of myself really. I tried patting myself on the back.. but could only reach the back of my neck.. damn my unsupple body.. I forgot my egg this morning.. so had to cook one in work. This isnt so bad, except that I had to microwave it coz they dont have the facilities to boil an egg here (unless i leave it in the kettle for a while..) It comes out looking like the sort of tasteless pap you get in a McDonalds McBreakfast.. the ones that look like bad prison food and that make you want to McRetch.. But, it's all I have, so I eat it with a smile on my face.. Lunch is a little more tasty.. fruit salad. It tastes amazing and I cant get enough, eventually having to eat fruit from the various bowls around the building to feed my need. Like the other day, I feel like a junkie.. desperately getting what I can to feed my fix.. I am on the verge of being found in a squat, lieing on a dirty mattress semi-conscious.. banana skins and apple cores spread around me like old needles.. I see my mum crying.,. "How did this happen to my little baby?!" as the ambulance takes me away to pump my stomach.. the doctors find seven different types of grape juice in there.. (a rough reference to that marc almond urban myth there..) The afternoon flies by.. but I have to work late again for a deadline. I trawl to sainsburys in angel.. again at about 10.30pm.. where I grab some lamb, salad and tomatoes.. if this isnt bad enough the queue is massive, and looks like that porcelain army in china.. There are about 40 people and 2 cashiers.. and the self checkout tills are broken.. great! I stand in line, slowly waiting. What annoys me even more is that everyone in front of me has basket fulls of food.. one lad even has his girlfriend still putting stuff in there as he queues.. I just want to go home.. It seems to me, a sober hungry man walking home from work at 11pm, that the weekend starts on Thursday in London.. at least especially in Islington and Old street way.. where the trendy young hip things hang out, drinking on a school night with their wanky haircuts and stupid blazer on t-shirt combinations.. I'm gripey, as you can tell.. As I wander around, I see all the weird and wonderful people that north london has to offer at night.. mostly pissed people looking for a cab or a kebab.. opr anything else ending in 'ab'.. (tetanus jab?) I suddenly feel like robert de niro in taxi driver.. but without the taxi.. I make up a film idea.. 'Robert De Niro is.. 'THE PEDESTRIAN'.. a deadly assasin who kills his victims with precision and speed.. then escapes by foot..' It takes $50 at the US box office.. and goes straight to betamax in the UK... I get home and all my housemates are seemingly out on the piss.. except deano who is in work (he's a chef). I used to be like them... The label on the lamb says I have to oven cook it for an hour.. I skip this by deciding to cook it in a pan WITH the tomatoes and some spring onions. It turns out to look, and taste, pretty damn amazing, and once again the lamb comes through for me. "and the result from the welsh jury is.. eggs.. nil points.. fish.. two points.. steak three points.. lamb five points.." I hear jokes about a welshman eating lamb ringing in my ears.. something to do with foreplay... And so I complete day seven.. it seems to be going well. I've lost about a stone, which is dead on schedule.. I go to bed and play with my man tits whilst I still have them.. for old times sake.. |