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If any of you have ever been students, you'll get this analogy...
When you're a student, you occasionally get an urge to break your monotonous diet of beans on toast and takeaway curries by cooking something reasonably elaborate. So one day, after lectures, you go and buy some fresh veggies, and other ingredients. Of course, that night you're too tired / have a project / feel like drinking, so you don't get round to cooking.
Over the next few days, nothing happens - you get distracted. You go out on the piss and decide that getting a takeout would be easier than cooking. For whatever reason, you don't look in the fridge.
After a week or so, one of your housemates mentions the smell in the fridge, but it doesn't click.
Roughly a fortnight after your trip to the supermarket, you decide to get cooking, and you look in the fridge, to be confronted by sodden piles of mould in condensation-shrouded plastic bags, sitting in rank-smelling puddles of brownish liquid. Feverishly, you throw them towards the bin, rescuing only one still-wholesome courgette, which you eat.
What's the point of this analogy? Simply that recently, I've not been paying much attention to a lot of things in my life. I've been assuming that they're happy in the fridge, and I'll get round to them when I'm not plagued with distractions. Recently, I opened the fridge, and the nice wholesome tasty life-bits changed, Schroedinger-like, into fetid pools of decomposition and corruption.
So here I am, plunging my fingers into the stinking, warm mush, looking for just one item that's free of decay, one thing to nourish me. I'll let you know if I find it.
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