Salt Mine Diamond Mine Tin Mine
Every year or two I go to a fast food place because I cannot remember whether or not I enjoyed it the previous time. This morning I was hungry earlier than normal; usually I would buy some kind of salad from Marks and Spencer but today I needed something that goes squelch. I found a nearby McDonalds and bought a burger and fries.
Well. I now know why I never remember the last time...these burgers may contain nothing that is good but they do go straight for the salt and sugar tastebuds and give them a damn good thrashing. Once this is done then pop! The burger vanishes. Your mouthful of meat turns into some kind of swamp gas that lines the throat with the sensation of bad beef before evaporating to fuck knows where.
Ten minutes later the only evidence I had eaten was the lingering stench and a desperate need to gargle with TCP. I was still hungry. But the salt, the salt...damn it, salt is good. Any more than seven grammes and day and you’ll be torn limb from limb by some grotesque monster riding a giant fucked heart...yet you crave the stuff, you goddamn mineral lover. The aftertaste lingers on and begs to have its fire quenched, but like an itch you should not scratch you just keep on feeding the flames with more salt.
What I now crave is a good malt with a salty finish. Yeah, that would sort me out. This is an expensive cure and I understand why many people simply reach for a tasteless bag of crisps. In a way it is the most basic addiction of all. The only saving grace is that the craving only flares up once you have recently come into contact with the stuff...this is no early-morning scrabble for the fags before the alarm clock has had chance to cool down. And salt is not something we dream about. But hell, this shit is strong.
And sugar? Fuck sugar. I do not care for it on the whole and so I cannot and will not discuss its potency. So that’s that sketch knackered then.
Things are not too sweet on the campaign trail either... Ye gods, what a link! But what the hell, these jabberings are increasingly fast and loose these days and there seems little point in settling down.
Out there, out on the long road, both Howard and Blair are being buffeted by some bad winds. Whenever they step out of their bubbles into an approximation of the real world they are harangued by the disillusioned. Labour voters, whilst feeling deeply uncomfortable about the past four years, are nevertheless returning to the fold...Howard has cast himself as the wolf here and it is entirely his fault that his election campaign is preaching to the choir and alienating every other bastard in the land. His immigration schtick is coming unschtuck... perhaps the icy heart of middle England is not so cold after all.
Ah, but whilst Tony plays the shepherd he is unable to play the preacher, losing valuable voters to the trail of breadcrumbs laid by Charles Kennedy. For many people the Lib Dems are promising a happy deal that will keep them sweet...but I suspect the Lib Dem vote is an ideological one rather than a financial decision. And so 22 per cent they have and 22 per cent they continue to have.
The trouble both parties are having is that too many people now do not classify themselves as left or right leaning. This is not to say that people think of themselves as bang in the centre, but rather a wide grouping that averages near the centre. People who are comfortable with your basic high street capitalism but feel the world needs a few more groovy vibes. So the parties have to sandpaper off their rougher edges and find themselves differentiated less by politics and more by a game of emotional Top Trumps.
Hmm...whilst I work out if I actually have a point to make, I shall bail on the post and find something to eat that won’t kill me...at least, not as quickly.
Well. I now know why I never remember the last time...these burgers may contain nothing that is good but they do go straight for the salt and sugar tastebuds and give them a damn good thrashing. Once this is done then pop! The burger vanishes. Your mouthful of meat turns into some kind of swamp gas that lines the throat with the sensation of bad beef before evaporating to fuck knows where.
Ten minutes later the only evidence I had eaten was the lingering stench and a desperate need to gargle with TCP. I was still hungry. But the salt, the salt...damn it, salt is good. Any more than seven grammes and day and you’ll be torn limb from limb by some grotesque monster riding a giant fucked heart...yet you crave the stuff, you goddamn mineral lover. The aftertaste lingers on and begs to have its fire quenched, but like an itch you should not scratch you just keep on feeding the flames with more salt.
What I now crave is a good malt with a salty finish. Yeah, that would sort me out. This is an expensive cure and I understand why many people simply reach for a tasteless bag of crisps. In a way it is the most basic addiction of all. The only saving grace is that the craving only flares up once you have recently come into contact with the stuff...this is no early-morning scrabble for the fags before the alarm clock has had chance to cool down. And salt is not something we dream about. But hell, this shit is strong.
And sugar? Fuck sugar. I do not care for it on the whole and so I cannot and will not discuss its potency. So that’s that sketch knackered then.
Things are not too sweet on the campaign trail either... Ye gods, what a link! But what the hell, these jabberings are increasingly fast and loose these days and there seems little point in settling down.
Out there, out on the long road, both Howard and Blair are being buffeted by some bad winds. Whenever they step out of their bubbles into an approximation of the real world they are harangued by the disillusioned. Labour voters, whilst feeling deeply uncomfortable about the past four years, are nevertheless returning to the fold...Howard has cast himself as the wolf here and it is entirely his fault that his election campaign is preaching to the choir and alienating every other bastard in the land. His immigration schtick is coming unschtuck... perhaps the icy heart of middle England is not so cold after all.
Ah, but whilst Tony plays the shepherd he is unable to play the preacher, losing valuable voters to the trail of breadcrumbs laid by Charles Kennedy. For many people the Lib Dems are promising a happy deal that will keep them sweet...but I suspect the Lib Dem vote is an ideological one rather than a financial decision. And so 22 per cent they have and 22 per cent they continue to have.
The trouble both parties are having is that too many people now do not classify themselves as left or right leaning. This is not to say that people think of themselves as bang in the centre, but rather a wide grouping that averages near the centre. People who are comfortable with your basic high street capitalism but feel the world needs a few more groovy vibes. So the parties have to sandpaper off their rougher edges and find themselves differentiated less by politics and more by a game of emotional Top Trumps.
Hmm...whilst I work out if I actually have a point to make, I shall bail on the post and find something to eat that won’t kill me...at least, not as quickly.
posted by Jamie at 3:11 PM
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