Geomeatric.

The other day I walked past a stall outside King's Cross Station that was selling 'meat cones'; a delicacy as heart attack-inducing as it was non-specific. 

Unsurprisingly, I was intrigued. While I didn't stop long enough to suggest I'd want to buy one, I still managed to catch a glimpse of the culinary delight, which was cooling on a little oven-rack-cum-plinth. What I saw lived up to its unsavoury savoury name: all the fleshy elements of a standard mixed grill had been tipped into a paper cup, without flourish or garnish. It looked horrific. ‎

Who wants to buy a beaker of dead animal? Not me. I can't see many people being enticed in by a mass-cull in a cone. Their target audience would die out after a few repeat visits. 

I suppose it could have been worse. They could have blitzed it in a food processor and sold it as a meat drink. I've just been sickened by my own sentence. ‎

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