All I have done today is eat and drink. Sounds great doesn’t it, well it fucking well isn’t. I know hospital food is an easy target and I shouldn’t really be taking a swipe at it. I know it must be incredibly difficult to dish up interesting, nutritious meals on a very tight budget, but today has consisted of a continuous flow of plates and bowls full of beige coagulates.
Porridge – I’m pretty sure that there was a large Scotsman down in the kitchen knocking one out in the porridge pan this morning and that’s what was served. Dirty wee bastard.
Roast Beef – I don’t think that ever went moo. Cauliflower cheese and creamed potatoes (see porridge above)
Chicken and ham pie and savoury rice. Difficult to tell the difference between the chicken, the ham and the pie. Followed by rice pudding. That dirty wee bastard has been at it all day.
Supplement this with two recovery drinks, suggested flavour of banana, and you have a wonderful concoction that is supposed to be aiding my recovery.
And I am only getting started. Every beautiful visitor I have had walk through the door has brought more food. Jesus, I’ve got enough grub stashed in lockers, on tables and under my bed in bed pans to feed the entire building for a week, including that dirty wee Scotsman. I had a fabulous cake brought in yesterday by the gorgeous Mrs W and offered each and every nurse a slice. Guess what, they’re all on the ‘weight watchers’, so the cake sat in the corner winking at me all night.
Earlier this afternoon I did offer Mrs W a quick bit of jiggery-pokery, a la 50 shades, using the asymmetric bars in my ensuite. I thought it might help me to work off some of the food I have consumed. But apparently, I am not ready for that just yet. Maybe tomorrow.
Now tomorrow, I will not be choosing the porridge, I’ll give him a rest. I think I’ll go up a tone or two and plump for the branflakes. After all, what could go wrong there with a belly full of bran and a bag!