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Operation “Replace Stolen Food”

December 21, 2014

I had a hangover, I was eating toast and listening to Brian Redhead on Radio 4, reporting gravely about Operation Desert Storm.

It was January 1991.

Through my grogginess I become aware one of the kids is crying her eyes out: “But where is it? Where’s my Wagon Wheel?” The mother was consoling the youngest while trying to find the biscuit.

And then I remembered. I’d come in plastered the night before after boozing in St Leonards-on-Sea’s blues bar, fallen into the kitchen, found a Wagon Wheel and ate it.

I felt truly ashamed when I admitted my actions to the family I was renting a room from.

Fast forward nearly 24 years and not a lot has changed: I’m renting a room in a family home and I’m running from general store to newsagent to supermarket, looking for replacements for the food I stole from my landlady’s kitchen the night before.

She texted me 5 minutes previously to say she was returning home unexpectedly. That’s when I remembered: I’d had a bottle of cider the night before and decided to finish her After Eights and toast the last few slices of her 50:50 Kinsgmill loaf.

Of course, I’m assuming she doesn’t read this stoopid blog.

Filed in: Personal

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