I have sworn in the past not to use my liberated Friday for cleaning purposes, yet here I find myself at 2.45pm with my head firmly implanted in my oven, scraping out four years of festering matter. The bits that got away. Escaped juices from lamb joints and grilled lemon sole; the fleeing crumbs from toast, garlic bread and Bird's Eye Potato Waffles; violent explosions of olive oil carrying shards of rosemary and particles of cumin; skin dust; drippings from melted cheese; goose fat; collapsed apple strudel.
It all reminds me of a thought I had the other day. If you piled up all the food you have eaten over the course of your entire life how large would that pile be? As a forty-one-year old would it fill the living room of a 2 bedroom house in Aldershot? Would it cover the football pitch of Birmingham City? Fill the entire men's section at Debenhams?
Moreover, so much food passes through us in life but how much of it is actually pooed out? What is the food eaten to food pooed out ratio? And does it all depend on what kind of food has been eaten? Maybe we are enlightened with this information when we die. Presented to us visually on a flip chart by some kind of fact-crazed Grim Reaper. One can only hope.
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