When I was in my late teenage years I lived in a small studio (bedsit) flat in Cheltenham.
I had cable, wine and a cat, I was fairly happy with life.
All I ever ate in those days was Super Noodles.
If you’re not aware, these are one step up from Pot noodles on the class (in that you need a saucepan and there are no lumps of vomit).
To cook them you put the dried noodles in water, boil and stir then add a sachet of “flavouring”. Eat, then feel a bit disappointed and develop a vague sense of depression.
I lived on these for ages, then one day, I could have no more, as another trowelful went in my gullet said no. And from that day to this even the very thought of super noodles makes me want to retch, especially now as my diet is used to a varied high quality mix of prawns and fresh pasta.
But the other day, my flatmate was having some, and I felt this twinge so on my next trip to Sainsbury’s I bought a pack.
And now, tonight, I have no food in the flat.
But they are there, and I could. But I can’t… I went away and fingered the packet, but cannot bring myself to eat them. I would rather starve.