Lunch today was a bit of beetroot and a roll-up. Don’t you dare say I’m not living the dream. Tomorrow’s lunch may not be so spectacular: no-one is paying me, despite my persistence and far-from-threatening threats. The trick here, of course, is to borrow money, but most of my friends are either in a similar boat, wary of my paying back skills, or would simply be too shocked at a borderline professional footballer/successful writer coming to them asking for cash. I could ask my parents, but one is a janitor living in a bedsit and the other is on a state pension, so I would feel wrong asking them to borrow money, a feeling intensified by me always borrowing money from them and never paying it back.
So I’m in a bit of a hole, a beetroot shaped hole. It’s one I’ll climb out of – I’m forever climbing out of holes – but I’ve had to put the experiment on hold for a day or two before I can summon up the energy to plough back into it. In the meantime I have three features to write, one of which has to be in this afternoon and is about Antigua, a place I visited in June earlier this year when I was earning a thousand pounds a week and having lunches that might have included beetroot as an accompaniment, but was never the main – only – focus of the meal.
Thanks to everyone who keeps reading. You’re all a bit nuts, but thanks.