Billygean.co.uk

I am on the train to work.

On the train. I pull my purse out ready to show my ticket and, salivating, get my lunch out. Now, your intestines probably work fine and there is therefore something you should know: every night we cook too much food and I eat the leftovers for lunch the next day, because my lunch options are limited in a world obsessed with sandwiches. So I have to heat up my lunch in the microwave and dash to the train station rather than BUY A SANDWICH like normal people.

Oh no, another illness digression, even if digressions are, incontestably, the sunshine (look it up).

So, pulling out my lunch (and when you have leftovers of whatever you ate the night before, sometimes they are a bit weird; today’s is a full roast. You know, a few potatoes, a few slabs of beef, a bit of gluten free stuffing and one gluten free yorkshire pudding which I will save until last and stuff into my mouth whole), I realise I have forgotten cutlery.

Now: I could wait until I get to work and use a knife and fork from the office. This would be all well and normal except it would involve TAKING A ROAST DINNER INTO THE OFFICE which, as discussed previously, would add to my list of office faux pas.

So I decide to just tuck in. With my hands.

The man opposite looks at me like I am feral.