February marks the month of famine
Following medical orders, I’ve thrown away the fags and the comfort of a small glass of sherry at the end of the day. My food intake has been reduced to that of a rabbit, a small and desolate rabbit. Consumed with envy, I’ve spent the first three days of the month watching the cat chomping through his bowl of kibble.
Food, what’s that? I’m forbidden all the delights of the kitchen, no lamb chops, no pancetta, no roast chicken, no olives and, what’s infinitely worse, no cheese. I walk around in a hazy dream of triple cream brie.
I could have coffee, but no milk. Bugger that. I’ll go without.
My daily menu consists of one orange, one apple, one slice of dry toast, a small serve of cannellini beans with asparagus and a tiny handful of walnuts. Tomorrow, for crissake, I can indulge in a couple of sardines.
Naturally, I’ve been far too irritable to speak to anyone.
I can scarcely bear to speak to myself.
Ned Kelly is reported to have said, “Such is Life” before he died.
I am boldly and definitely asking you, “This is Life?”
Similar suggestions have been made to me, but I figure everyone’s entitled to their own opinion… even doctors.
The only one I agree with tossing are the nails in the coffin that keep you… coughin’
All else, liquid and solid are ‘Life’ in neon lights, and if the great plan is to turn off my lights any time soon, I’m off with a glass in one hand and a plate of brie and crackers and olives and sun-dried tomatoes in the other. Cheers!