Liquidised leper
There are certain signs that summer is ending and the season of mist and mellow fruitiness is upon us, the flight of the swallow for instance, or the square yardage of goose-pimpled flesh on those brave souls still sporting tropical uniform.
My own reaction to the nights drawing in is the acquiring of a taste for soup. This struck first at about three yesterday afternoon. Of course, there was no soup to be found at my desk, so I wandered down to the canteen where, nestling between the vending machine selling carbonated battery acid and the vending machine selling additive slathered deep fried joy was a vending machine selling hot drinks.
Hot drinks is just about as far as you can go with the legal definitions. God knows what goes on in the innards of the thing, but whatever it is it results in such delights as 'coffee flavoured drink' or 'chocolate style beverage'. Throwing caution to the wind, I plumped for 'vegetable soupish'.
Thirty seconds of girglings, whirrings and sputings later, I was rewarded with a plastic beaker of what looked like either the worst sperm sample ever or graphic evidence of what happens to lepers in a spin cycle.
Of course, I drank it. And I'm not sure the experience hasn't profoundly altered me in some way, probably as a result of whatever chemicals they use flooding my brain. I reckon the stuff is laced with some addictive enzyme, otherwise why would one not, after the first sip, hurl it across the room screaming 'I'm better than this' and make at once for the Regency Café and an all day breakfast?
As for today, I'm undecided - 'minestrone style broth' or the intriguing sounding 'raspberry flavoured water'?
My own reaction to the nights drawing in is the acquiring of a taste for soup. This struck first at about three yesterday afternoon. Of course, there was no soup to be found at my desk, so I wandered down to the canteen where, nestling between the vending machine selling carbonated battery acid and the vending machine selling additive slathered deep fried joy was a vending machine selling hot drinks.
Hot drinks is just about as far as you can go with the legal definitions. God knows what goes on in the innards of the thing, but whatever it is it results in such delights as 'coffee flavoured drink' or 'chocolate style beverage'. Throwing caution to the wind, I plumped for 'vegetable soupish'.
Thirty seconds of girglings, whirrings and sputings later, I was rewarded with a plastic beaker of what looked like either the worst sperm sample ever or graphic evidence of what happens to lepers in a spin cycle.
Of course, I drank it. And I'm not sure the experience hasn't profoundly altered me in some way, probably as a result of whatever chemicals they use flooding my brain. I reckon the stuff is laced with some addictive enzyme, otherwise why would one not, after the first sip, hurl it across the room screaming 'I'm better than this' and make at once for the Regency Café and an all day breakfast?
As for today, I'm undecided - 'minestrone style broth' or the intriguing sounding 'raspberry flavoured water'?
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