So what I did was stuff my face with anything around, any old rubbish, burgers, chocolate, crisps, fish and chips, loads of it, till I felt sick - but at least I'd had the pleasure of stuffing my face and feeling really full.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I still eat a burger at a counter with ketchup dripping down my face.
I ate everything - a lot of pizza, bags of chips and boxes of cookies. Now I love chicken, that's all I eat.
At this point, I wouldn't be able to digest meat, and I don't like eating things with faces.
I ate a bug once. It was flying around me. I was trying to get it away. It went right in my mouth. It was so gross!
When the folks at Holiday Inn Express handed me a pancake with my very own face on it, I knew I had finally made it. Then, I grabbed a knife and fork, and tucked into my face. And I'm happy to report: I'm delicious.
I remember eating in school in the years after the Second World War. Most of my friends had miserable portions of Spam with an inedible, glutinous pudding served in containers we called 'coffins.' As a vegetarian, I had a lump of loathsome cheese and some bread.
I baked bread, hand-ground peanuts into butter, grew and froze vegetables, and, every morning, packed lunches so healthful that they had no takers in the grand swap-fest of the lunchroom.
I was a food junkie.
According to my mother, there pretty much wasn't anything I wouldn't eat as a child. Not just try, but eat. I was even inclined to dig into stuff about which she expressed open disgust - lobster and other shellfish, and cheap Chinese food with pepper so hot it made your gums feel like a medieval dentist had been at them.
I would snack on crisps and chocolate and my meals weren't the best. I ate lots of steak with creamy sauces, chips and peas, washed down with wine and a pudding.