This morning I was treated to
the unpleasant sight of a man eating a packet of Quavers for breakfast.
The crime scene was Platform
Two of Hitchin Railway Station. I had just taken a freezing cold thirty-minute
walk from my flat – and was sheltering from the wind in the waiting room when I
spied the culprit.
There are some sights and
smells you don’t want to face before 9:00am; a man delving messily into a
packet of crisps is one of them.
Now, it’s possible the man might have been working on a night-shift. Maybe he’d been up since first thing in the
morning, travelling between two far-flung destinations. You could argue that – or just plump for the assumption that he
was a greedy bastard.
Believe me: when it comes to
eating crisps pre-‘Homes Under The Hammer’, this man looked just the sort.
There's nothing wrong with Quavers per se, but cheesy snacks have a definite time and place. I don’t know how you could
hack those sorts flavours early in the morning; surely you’ve only
just brushed your teeth?
You don’t mix cheese with mint. That’s a fact.
What made it particularly
upsetting was he was mere yards away from a display of fruit. This man wasn’t
interested in health; he wanted something starchy and processed and he wanted
it NOW.
Perhaps we could enforce some kind of law to prevent
culinary crimes of this nature; a strict snack timetable, with appropriate
times for every foodstuff. Any MP who proposed this would secure my vote readily.
I'm not one to talk, though. I was already tucking into my second Kit Kat finger.
I'm not one to talk, though. I was already tucking into my second Kit Kat finger.