The Ivy House where we played last night normally does food. Robert got there first and texted me to tell me they weren't doing it last night. It was too late. I was nearly there.
In the spirit of the Old Days, I decided to have a corner shop sandwich. There was only one thing left, a cheese salad roll. I bought that and went to the venue.
The roll was huge, cold and rubbery. It stuck to the roof of my mouth as I tried to chew it, and it didn't taste of cheese. I opened it. The huge dense doughy lump, about 15 centimetres long, had only a small square of cheese in its centre section, a shaving; less than a quarter of a lettuce leaf was stuck to the margarine, and a translucent sliver of tomato rested on top. The rest of the roll was empty: it was quite extraordinary.
I bought some ready salted crisps to make it into a crisp sandwich, but even they were enveloped-to-drowning in the pillowy stodge, and I ended up abandoning it completely.
Why waste a whole blog posting on a cheese roll? Because it wasn't a cheese roll. I'm not even sure it was a roll: if that was bread I'm a flying pig.
1 comment:
But five hours later, after 6 or 7 pints of snakebite, it would have been DELICIOUS!!!
(Did you ever mention the review of your book in the June 2021 issue of Wire in your blog? I chanced upon it last night as I was re-reading some magazines prior to recycling. I still have it if you want me to cut it out))
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