my food of shame

I’m meant to be editing, which is actually far more fun than it sounds. I am going through the manuscript with the delete button on high alert, removing adverbs, killing adjectives, and hacking out great wodges of hideousness. But all work and no play is not A Good Thing.

Incidentally if you’ve seen The Shining you may snigger if I tell you that after one very long day of typing (for me) and child wrangling (for K) he came upstairs to see how I was getting on and I showed him a word document like this:

only with the obvious substitutions. You may not snigger of course, but that’s what passes for humour in our house. We don’t get out much.

Anyway. The point. I’m getting there, slowly.

My foods of shame. This post was inspired by my friend @JonnyDobby who was appalled by my confession that I was enjoying a lovely cup of instant coffee.

I know. Heinous shame. But look, it’s rainforest certified and, um, I reuse the jar. And, er, stuff.

So. Here we are. I lay myself before you, in my Scottish shame.

It’s a Scotch Pie. It’s probably made from ground up testicle and lip and earflaps in gravy. But mmmmmm, it is heavenly.

I know, I know. Heinz Macaroni Cheese. It’s not even real food. But it’s lying in a feeble heap on a Sunday food. And once a year or so, I have to have it.

And milk bottle sweeties. They have milk in the title, so they can’t be all that bad, surely?

But my desert island food – it’s none of the above.

I am obsessed. You know the way other people have favourite coffees, or are wine experts? That’s me, but with apples. Russets with a cup of coffee, really sharp Granny Smiths with a pot of tea. Nothing shaming about that. Except I eat the whole thing, leaving only the stalk. And then I leave the stalks lying around the house in a really irritating manner.

So there you are. Confession time. Anyone want to own up to anything and make me feel better?