Archive: sandwiches

I wrote about the queue I stood in the day before Standinaqueue Day, and I somehow got sidetracked into talking about weirdos in trains. I have only just started on that, stay tuned for another train weirdo post to come one day.

But yesterday — the day after Standinaqueue Day — I did manage to find the time to stand in a queue. I feel a bit bad for not submitting a story to Standinaqueue, but what can you do if you haven’t stood in a queue on Standinaqueue Day? If only I could have moved that queue to a day before, but I think I already messed the queue around enough as it was.

It was in the little shop in Potterrow at the University. It was a long day, so I had to buy some sandwiches. I don’t often go to the shop there, but I think usually there are three tills but one queue. But today the queue was kind of loosely formed, although it extended fairly far back. It was difficult to tell whether somebody was in a queue, looking at something on the shelf or just standing around.

Tentatively, I joined what I thought might have been the back of the queue. Turns out I was standing next to somebody who was already in the queue. I was put off by the fact that he was chatting to two friends. But I then realised that I had pushed my way in front of his two friends! Oops. The guy graciously signalled to me to go ahead, but I felt bad so I just stood on the spot until he had been served.

Queues are not the only seemingly mundane things that can vex you though. As I said, I went into the shop to buy a sandwich. When I went up to the fridge with the sandwiches in it, I was faced with an awful dilemma.

There are clearly two tiers of sandwiches. On one low shelf we have “Simply Scottish” sandwiches. This is clearly the no-frills option. Basic fillings, cheap packaging. It looks like it probably has horrible white bread that tastes of polystyrene, and it wouldn’t surprise me if semen is used instead of mayonnaise.

On a higher shelf there are the more expensive Ginsters sandwiches from Cornwall. They are more expensive, but they look absolutely gorgeous and the packaging isn’t made of toilet paper. And how can you argue against fillings such as “roast chicken stuffing”?

Obviously, I chose the Ginsters sandwich. But as soon as I had paid for it, something struck me. Edinburgh University has a well-known divide between the (mostly) English (mostly) well-off “yahs” on the one hand, and the (mostly) Scottish (mostly) less well-off people on the other.

I personally think the divide is overhyped. I think in some ways it’s only really bad if you’re looking out for it. But I’m noticing it more and more as I near the end of the uni “experience”. Still, there is no denying that at least the perception is that there is some kind of class / nationality divide at Edinburgh University.

And I had just come out of my shop, having snobbishly turned my nose up at the basic Scottish sandwiches in preference for the more expensive English sandwiches with posh fillings. All of a sudden I became conscious of the fact that I was carrying Ginsters sandwiches. People were probably making judgements about me.

“Look at him; he’s a total yah for not eating the Simply Scottish sandwiches like normal students with massive debts,” people said to me in my head. Am I becoming one of those awful people who started university with a Scottish accent but have magically attained a posh accent somewhere in the intervening three years?

Ah, bollocks to it. Those sandwiches are so tasty. How could I resist the “meat feast” triple pack?! I may as well boycott Marks & Spencer now. I know where to go for my posh sandwiches from now on: the humble union!

I am a huge fan of the radio programme Up All Night. On Wednesday nights / Thursday mornings — if I am awake — I like to listen to Dr Karl’s science phone in. The man is smart and enthusiastic. He’s one of those people that can explain everything in layman’s terms.

But one day he said something that I could never agree with. It might be sound advice, but I cannot take it. Something like, say, “try to take five portions of fruit and veg a day” is fine enough advice for me. But what Dr Karl said on this occasion defies all common sense. He said: “Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, dine like a pauper.” Never will I do this!

Mike Flynn says, Down with breakfast. I agree. I know that breakfast is meant to be the most important meal of the day, because it breaks your fast and all that. But if I must eat breakfast, at least allow me to have a sufficiently small breakfast. Preferably one that won’t turn my backside into a drainpipe.

It’s true. I can’t just get up and eat breakfast then go about my business. I don’t think I have a very strong stomach. Eating breakfast early in the morning makes me a bit ill you see. If I have a free morning then I will almost always leave about half an hour or an hour before eating. This is fine.

But if I have something to do early in the morning I obviously just have to eat my breakfast pretty much as soon as I get up. But I simply don’t have the appetite if I have just got up. It takes at least half an hour for me to feel like wanting to eat something.

Now you smartarse responsible adults reading this will just be thinking, “why don’t you just get up half an hour earlier then?” Don’t be so preposterous. I need every last wink of sleep I can get, particularly if I’m going to stay up all night listening to worthy science phone-ins.

Besides, I once heard on the Thursday night / Friday morning sleep phone in that it is natural for people my age not to get up until about midday. One time, when we were being forced to play some rubbish ball game in the freezing cold at 10am, my PE teacher was obviously concerned at our breathless gasping. She did a straw poll, asking how many of us had eaten breakfast. Less than half had eaten breakfast. Do you know why? Because we need our sleep damnit!

The idea that I need my breakfast in order to function during the day goes against all of my real life experiences. Sure, if I don’t eat my breakfast I might get a rumble in my tummy by about 11 o’clock, but I get that even if I’ve had breakfast. I must have gone to school dozens of times without ever eating a bean until lunch, and look at me — I’m still alive.

I don’t need my breakfast. I need to sleep in the mornings! I don’t want to be forcing fibre down my gullet only for it to be ejected within the space of a train journey (20 pence piece at the ready for entry to the loos at Waverley Station).

This morning I woke up on my friend’s sofa in Dundee having spent the night over. There was no breakfast for me to have. I thought, well I’d better have breakfast because it’s the most important meal of the day apparently and I have to breakfast like a king. So I popped into the Spar. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t have to be heated in the microwave.

Knowing that having such an early breakfast would only make me ill anyway, I just hopped on the train home. My first food came an hour and a half after I woke up. Sure, I was starving when I got home. But boy, it was a great breakfast. I appreciated it much more than I would have appreciated any soggy sandwich I might have bought from a convenience store. And there was no need for a sloppy poop toilet trip.

Sometimes I’m lucky in that I won’t need to dispose of my waste following an early breakfast. But I will still have an unsettled stomach. It’s no wonder nobody will sit next to me during lectures because at some point during that first lesson I will have to unleash a gastric gas catastrophe. It isn’t pleasant. I can’t imagine what must be going on in my innards for such foul smells to be created.

Maybe you think I’m ill or I have some sort of allergy, but I doubt it. As I said, if I leave a bit of time after waking up before eating then I have no problems whatsoever. I can wolf down as much cereal as I like during the evening with no dire(-rhoea) consequences. If I have an allergy to anything, it’s to the morning.

I certainly don’t have an aversion to traditional breakfast-time foods. Infact I have at least one bowl of cereal per day — but always at around 9pm. Additionally I had some toast this evening. Yesterday lunchtime I had a bowl of fruity porridge. I’m not averse to the odd afternoon fry-up either. Even croissants are for lunchtime as far as I’m concerned.

So, if breakfast isn’t the best meal of the day, what is? Well, unlike Mike Flynn, I don’t think it’s lunch. Sandwiches might be good, but I’ve had some awful sandwiches in my time. It’s pretty hit and miss. Also, I have to pace myself when having lunch. I’ve got to be careful not to eat too much in case I don’t have enough room for a later meal that must be eaten with the family round the table.

The best meal of the day certainly isn’t anything called “tea”. Tea is not a meal. It is a hot drink that tastes like compost if you leave the bag in for too long.

You’ve guessed it, mostly because it’s in the title of this post: The best meal is dinner. The most diverse of the meals, dinner also usually provides you with the only hot meal of the day. Possibly the only decent slab of meat of the day. A nice mountain of filling carbohydrates. And I don’t care if I’m meant to eat like a pauper at this time. This is the biggest meal of the day. Fact.

Dinner is also a gateway into the evening, a period of freedom. Breakfast is usually just leading up to a hellish train journey and a bleary-eyed morning of work. Even lunch heralds the beginning of more work. Dinner links the end of work to the start of a relaxing, restful evening.

So down with breakfast indeed. Let’s hear it for dinner, the proper most important meal of the day.

I heard the other day that the latest political bandwagon that students are jumping on is a boycott of Marks & Spencer because they sell oranges from Israel or something. I’m not the boycotting type. Actually that’s not true. I boycott Starbucks, but that’s only because the last time I went there my coffee came in an utterly filthy mug.

I guess that’s not a proper boycott though. I’m not the sort of person to boycott in the name of workers’ rights or whatever anyway. Because what about the Israeli workers who make their living growing oranges for Marks & Spencer? How would you feel if some busybodying middle-class bumwads from thousands of miles away decided to stop buying your products because of Tony Blair? You’d be fucked off!

So yesterday I bought a Marks & Spencer sandwich in protest. Well actually, I was just bloody starving. Anyway, what the fuck have they done to the packaging? It’s years since I’ve bought an M&S sandwich. This new packaging was too much to handle. What was wrong with just ripping the top off? Now you’ve got to pull this tab, fold the crease, tear off the perforated bit, pick your bum, god knows what else, just for the privilege of eating a sandwich.

It said “pull this tab to open for a convenient tray”. So I pulled the tab and it just came off, and no tray materialised. ‘This can’t be right,’ I thought to myself, and I attempted to open it the old-fashioned way, which turned out to be impossible. At this point I was beginning to understand M&S’s association with Israel, because you clearly need the help of Mossad to get to your sandwiches. I eventually got to my sandwiches, but I have no idea how.

One the train back I saw somebody else with a mutilated sandwich packet with sandwiches still inside.