Out to Lunch

Today, foolish chap that I am, I had breakfast. Therefore I am bloody starving and am signally failing to think about anything but food.

Let's get one thing straight: anyone who says that you need a good breakfast to fill you up at the start of the day is talking out of their arse. All that food does in the morning is start your stomach working two or three hours before there's any reason to. So when when the half-toast-half-tea-half-air mouthfuls you gulped down as you dashed out of the door have been sludged away in a frenzy of caustic, gaseous, indigestion, your gut notices that it is empty and complains.

Constantly.

So there's the rub: Breakfast makes you hungry. Hunger makes you snack. Snacks make you fat. Tony Tiger, your honour, is culpable for the obesity epidemic.

So, today, instead of a sensible abstinence until lunchtime, I've eaten my apple, my sandwich, more biscuits than I care to think about and, in an unconsidered moment, a sizable chunk of pencil eraser. And I Am Still HUNGRY.

Anyway. There's really only one way to end that little rant: