Dateline: January the twenty-somethingth. It's 1:45 in the afternoon, you are still in your pyjamas, and actually feel hungry for the first time in six days. A sandwich, a ham sandwich and a packet of crisps? That's the ticket.
Stumbling across the kitchen, you open the fridge: ignoring the Organic, Free-range turkey and it's avalanche of gluten-free fruit and nut stuffing, the Prime Aged beef joint encrusted in tiny globules of fat, where is the wafer-thin ham? Lurking in the depths, just behind the assortment of Scotch Pine Infused Smoked Salmon and the Incredible Pulled-Pork-with-Extra-Pork Pate, you find a packet of Simply Superb Honey-Roasted Peppercorn-encrusted Ham Slices - this will have to do.
Moving to the bread bin - two slices of white bread? none to be found, all replaced with Artisan Seeded Sliced Sourdough. Weeping quietly you extract two slices and move to the cupboard - surely there must be a packet of cheese and onion?
No, you are now confronted with Handmade Roast Chicken, Cranberry and Stuffing Flavour Ridged Crisps, and, bizarrely, fries purporting to be Ultimate Roast Potato flavour... and the inevitable bloody Twiglets. Grabbing a handful of Extra Mature Cheddar and Smoked Paprika Cheesey-Crunchies, you lurch to the to the beer stash - could you hope for a simple, honest-to-gods lager? No chance - it is a toss-up between cans of Uncle Sumpkin's Guava Infused American IPA, and a Cold Press Chocolate Orange Milk Stout.
As the frustration wells up, the collected victuals are dashed to the wall and you stomp off back to the lounge, pausing only to grab a handful of Exquisite Sea-shell Truffles to graze on.
The pangs assuaged, you sit disgusted with yourself in front of the TV and watch The Snowman for the fourth time in five days, all the time brooding that the whole sorry charade will be repeated again in two hours.
