There is now no corner of my mind free of murderous women and culinary sadism. I might be able to spend all day in nothing but long-johns and a smile, but I am shackled to the keyboard and oscillating between world-raping arrogance and depression as thick as Swarfega. Therein lies the fun of being a research student.
Last night Snout made a Vindaloo as hot as guilt, with bread and butter instead of rice. Tonight we will have something in garlic. I am thinking of changing my diet. People use food to change themselves, they eat health-food to imbibe virtue and purity, they eat their fellow men to absorb their strength, they eat Christ for similar effects. What you eat contributes to what you are, and so food can make me more monstrous.
From now on I will eat other people's personal documentation. I’ll feast on meat I find in bins and things that die in gutters. I’ll eat star anise and bay leaves like sweets and I’ll pick my teeth with wishbones. Tomorrow I am going to take a picnic to the park, and all the starveling chavs with their tracky-bs tucked into their socks will watch and drool like orphans outside a sweetshop as I tuck in. There will be pebbles in the champagne and frogspawn in the punch and all the edible knickers a girl could want.