‘I crave burgers at some pub. Any pub’
It was time to dispose of the aubergine. The one I acquired 39 days ago. Once firm, noble-seeming and purple, it now sat there looking forlorn – mottled in places, with a slightly jammy undercarriage. I picked it up several times on Tuesday and edged it closer to the bin, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the final push: chucking food would be an admission of defeat.
This decaying, bulbous lump was symbolic, I realised. It meant I couldn’t just meal-plan and to-do list my way out of this mess. Covid-19 would still be here, causing havoc, at every level of my existence, whether I made soup out of mulchy salad leaves or raita from on-the-turn yoghurt. And, by God, I’ve been good and compliant and jolly resourceful for six entire weeks by now, eating rotting things that I didn’t quite fancy. Remember the banana bread stage? These were the same bananas still, just all hot and mushy now, but with one in the eye for the grim reaper.
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