before I could use it up, so now I get something from the high street.
I always finish with a trip to Marks & Spencer on a Friday, which rounds off the week nicely.
I sit in the staff room with my sandwich and I read the newspaper from cover to cover, and then I do the crosswords.
I take the Daily Telegraph, not because I like it particularly, but because it has the best cryptic crossword.
I don’t talk to anyone—by the time I’ve bought my Meal Deal, read the paper and finished both crosswords, the hour is almost up.
I go back to my desk and work till 5:30. The bus home takes half an hour.
I make supper and eat it while I listen to the Archers. I usually have pasta with pesto and salad—one pan and one plate.
My childhood was full of culinary contradiction, and I’ve dined on both hand-dived scallops and boil-in-the-bag cod over the years.
After much reflection on the political and sociological aspects of the table, I have realized that I am completely uninterested in food.
My preference is for fodder that is cheap, quick and simple to procure and prepare,
whilst providing the requisite nutrients to enable a person to stay alive.
After I’ve washed up, I read a book, or sometimes I watch television if there’s a program the Telegraph has recommended that day.
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