One of the main reasons I now want to have children is that my dad and I appear to be the only 2 non-fussy eaters left. Out every day from 9am-1pm selling sandwiches in the merciless rain, sickening sun and belligerent wind, I have learnt this irritating fact. It is a strange state of affairs that, these days, people are willing to spend twice as much money on a meal with half as many calories, such are the ways of this health-obsessed culture. The contradiction is that these people nullify their ‘good behaviour’ with a myriad of detrimental habits. Their very interaction with me, for instance. Rather than get off their blubbery arses and leave the workplace for lunch, walk the 5 minutes to a Tesco or Boots for a meal deal, they wait for me to come to them, that way they only have to traverse the 15ft across the office from their desk to where I set my stall out. And people’s obsession with Diet Coke, fuck me! I sell about 5x as much Diet Coke as regular Coke. Not only does Diet Coke pale in comparison taste-wise with regular Coke, but you feel just as sticky-mouthed and un-hydrated afterwards. If you want to be healthy, drink cunting water! They all smoke too, like fucking chimneys; ironically, it seems, the habit begun as an excuse to get some fresh air, in this post-smoking ban age in which we now exist.

As my day progresses, my stock of sandwiches, pastas and wraps obviously begins to dwindle. I have never once had £0 wastage, solely because of these fussy eaters who, at the end of my round, think that 5 sandwiches isn’t a big enough selection. ‘Oh I don’t like mayo; most of them have got mayo in.’ Yes, most pre-packed sandwiches contain mayo, deal with it. I can’t cater for everyone’s obscure dislikes. The day I order in anti-mayo sandwiches, you won’t fucking show up for work will you, you lazy shite. ‘Oh, these are all white bread sandwiches. You don’t have any wholemeal?’ Who decided one day that white bread was bad for you, and why did everyone believe them? I eat white bread love, fucking shedloads of the stuff, lets go outside and see who can run a faster 5k. Lets go to the hospital and see who’s got the lower blood pressure. One woman, after perusing the selection for several minutes, came out with the blindingly irksome ‘it’s all rather bready isn’t it? I don’t like bread.’ You don’t like bread? You don’t like bread? What? Even if I will bend to tolerate this baffling aversion, I will not bend to forgive you for this remark, after 2 minutes of staring at a tray of sandwiches, the breakfast, lunchtime AND dinnertime sustenance that elevated bread to its legendary status. Wasting my thyme. My beautiful, precious peals of thyme.

I am sounding like a broken record to my own ears with this next one, but I’m gonna throw it out there anyway. Vegetarians. Again, fine, whatever, be a vegetarian if you want, but don’t whinge to me that I don’t have any vegetarian sandwiches. What the flying fuck would you put in a vegetarian sandwich? Every sandwich has either meat or cheese as its primary filler. But no, you won’t eat cheese, will you? It’s too fattening, isn’t it? Or too filling, some claim. Too filling? What is food supposed to do, other than fill you up? If the food I ate didn’t fill me up, then I would die. I could understand if these sandwiches were a clotted conglomeration of butter and inch-thick cheddar slices, but the company is trying to mug you off, and there’s hardly enough cheese in there to decorate a Jacob’s cracker. Today, a woman claimed she was a vegetarian for health reasons, detoxing etc. Vegetarianism for moral reasons makes greater sense to me, even if I don’t agree with it, because morality is subjective, but where people got this idea that meat is bad for you. Yeah, if you eat steak for every fucking meal, you would get ill; if you ate oranges for every meal, you would get ill. In addition, most (I stress most) vegetarians I’ve met look wan and emaciated, and, in need of a fucking beef burger; I’ve never met a vegetarian who I thought ‘yeh, he could kick my head in.’ 

Fussiness with chocolate. Never reckoned I’d witness that. But low and behold: ‘oh, you don’t have any Kitkats.’ No I do not, I came here on a cunting bike, I don’t have ASDA warehouse in that trailer I drag around Lambeth, down potholed streets in all weathers, pick another chocolate bar. There is not a chocolate bar I wouldn’t eat. There are very few sandwiches I wouldn’t eat; I don’t think there are any that I couldn’t eat. I’ve said Diet Coke isn’t that great, but I’ve still drunk a million of them. I’ve said that wholemeal bread is grotesque (it is), but I’ve still eaten it on countless occasions. I could eat anything, except lychees. That’s it. People are so indolent, that they wait for me to come to them, then moan about the dearth of choice. Lazy people can’t be fussy. Fat people surely can’t be fussy. But they are. All of them.

Snakehips away! x