Pleased to eat you

We have a lot of indoor markets here. It’s kind of a thing in these parts. Amazing places. Looking for something? Go to an indoor market. If you can’t find it, you probably didn’t need it. They have everything. One stall that I never, ever shop at (you’ll see why) has this brilliant slogan – ‘We’re pleased to meet you and we’ve meat to please you.’ Clever. I don’t eat meat, but dang, I can appreciate a good play on words.

To each, their own. Live and let live. That’s my motto. It kind of has to be, really. Just let me get on with my life, and I’ll return the favour (for some reason, the predictive text suggested ‘book’ rather than ‘favour’). As I’ve said before, I have multiple allergies to animal-based products, so I’m vegan by default. Although, I have gradually made it a principle thing too. At least that way, I can pretend I had a choice.

I don’t even bother explaining anymore. The few people in the past I’ve tried to explain it to think I’m just being awkward. The number of comebacks I’ve had… look, you can give me all the anti-plant-based rhetoric you like, chum, it’s not relevant to me! Why do people want me to eat something that’s going to make me ill? And why do you think the legends all bang on about vampires not eating? Here’s a couple of the top irrelevant statements…

“Animals in the wild eat meat!”

Well, when was the last time you saw a lion picking up its weekly shopping in Tesco/Walmart/Aldi? I tell you what, they’d be absolute nightmares at the till. A coupon for everything and guaranteed they’ll want an assistant to pack for them. Plus they can’t park for toffee. They always end up taking up two spaces with their customised jeeps.

“Where do you get your protein from?”

Try asking a gorilla that question. Go on, I dare you. I double dare you. Just be grateful that I tend to avoid blood which, ironically, is the one thing my tummy is happy with. Well, human blood, at least. I can’t remember, to be honest. It’s been so long. Surprised? Shocked? Hello..! Vampire… Nah, we’ve covered this before.

”But it’s what our ancestors used to eat!”

Tricky. And do you know why? Because it kept running away from them. Now I don’t know about you, but if I’m about to have lunch, and my food runs out the door, I’m guessing that stuff ain’t cooked properly. I’m letting the sucker run.
I prefer food that doesn’t have the ability to run away from me. Take a potato, for instance. And when I say take, of course I mean ‘get your own’. You come anywhere near me with the intention of nicking my chips/roast potatoes/mash, I will stick a fork in your hand.

And sometimes, it didn’t run away. Sometimes, you would have been the one running.

Anyway, the potato.

So versatile. So tasty. And they just wait there for you to come to them. In the soil. All nice and cosy. Flash a little bit of skin in the autumn. ‘Ooh, give me a bit more soil, you bad bunny.’ Let’s face it, the potato is a multitasker par excellence. It’s given us mash, chips, crisps, hasselbacks,  those twisty fried things (apparently they’re called Tornado Potatoes? Makes sense), even vodka. It makes the other veg look like total slackers. It doesn’t even brag, does it? It’s always referred to as the ‘humble potato’.

Have you ever actually come across a conceited vegetable though? I’ve often thought asparagus had ideas above its station, but then I realised that’s just a defence mechanism. Rocket/Arugula is another misunderstood plant. I mean, imagine being named after a starship or the sound a klaxon makes in an emergency.

But, our ancestors…

It can’t have been much fun, knowing your food had the capacity to chase you. I mean, certainly nowadays, food choices can kill you but in this case it was literal. ‘I’ll rip off your head and poop down your neck’ – said no veggie burger ever. Okay, so I imagine the animals that our ancestors hunted never said it either, given that they didn’t have the power of human speech. And the fact that they were too busy dealing with indigestion while also trying to find the loo roll.

These days, of course, too much of the wrong food will still kill you. But it’s gotten sneaky. Rather than going with the whole head-biting thing, it’ll do it from the inside. ‘You just wait. I’m gonna fur up your arteries. I’m gonna fix your gut so you can’t be trusted in a crowded lift.’

Seriously, though, I’m plant-based.  Because I am one of those people who can’t be trusted in a crowded lift. I’ll only eat stuff that grows in the ground. Let’s face it, we’re all going back there someday, so I’m getting to grips with my potential neighbours now. Good thing is though, potatoes, carrots etc aren’t known for their revenge tactics.

Hollywood has never made a film called ‘The Usual Saucepans’, or ‘Kill Dill’.

You get what I’m saying.

Life is pants.

“Never sweat the petty things, and never pet the sweaty things.”

Good advice.

I also like “Never sweat the small stuff. It’s all small stuff.” I’m not sure about the link between perspiration and good advice, but I’m sure someone out there is clever enough to come up with a syllogism for that too. There is so much advice out telling us what not to do for a happier, healthier life, in the form of books, videos, cute little memes (yes, them again!). But say we’re fortunate/determined enough to give up over-thinking, over-analysing, over-indulging, over-anything-else-ing, with what exactly do we fill the void?

Over the decades, I’ve seen so many parents barking ‘don’t ‘s at their kids: don’t run, don’t talk back, don’t put that in your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been (bonus points on that one!), without offering an alternative… I would just once like a toddler, on being told not to run, reply “But mother, I’m only three years old, it’s in my programming to run everywhere. I’ve only recently perfected this technique of movement, and I wish to maximise my newly acquired skill. Give me an alternative, mother, and I will gladly comply.”

Or, more simply put – “Don’t run? What else am I supposed to do?”

So, here’s my two penn’orth: always have an alternative option to hand. Want someone to stop doing something (and that includes you!)? Then give them an alternative or two to try out. In sort, have a Plan B (C, D, and so on). Have a escape route. You always have a choice.

I like to do swapsies… Swap horrors for delights. And make the most of those delights, even if they are only tiny ones. Find yourself a list of simple pleasures. Make these the things you dwell on as you fall asleep at night, rather than visualising the person who hurrumphed at you in that queue, or who took your last Jaffa cake…

There are a few simple pleasures in life which can’t be beaten. Not in the schadenfreude kind of way, you know, where you derive deep pleasure from seeing the person who cut you up on the road get stuck behind a horsebox. No, I mean the true, pure innocent pleasures of life.

Here are some of mine…

  1. Moonwalking (literally) out of a pair of socks after a long day.

  2. Duvet Arms. This is when you snuggle down under the covers after sitting up in bed with bare arms. Try it. You’ll be glad you did.

  3. Climbing into bed with fresh sheets, especially after a shower.

  4. Radiator Pants. On a cold day, leaving your clothes on a radiator overnight and donning deliciously warm undies the next morning.

  5. Sitting down on the sofa and finding that the cushion fits your back perfectly, without any need to shuffle it around first.

What five things will make your list?


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…because no good story ever started with a salad.