I finished work at quarter past seven. I ate a lot of roasted courgette because two of the kids wouldn't eat theirs. I also drank a panful of carrot-flavoured water. I was so full I could barely walk. And yet somehow I managed to walk out of their apartment and down the stairs and out into the street. That is the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I snapped out of my trance and I was handing over money in the corner shop in exchange for a pack of Prince bisuits.
I am going to die a slow, horrible obesity-related death. I am looking at the biscuits as I type. They look not particularly delicious but very addictive and moreish.
Actually, just reading the packet and it says they are 'riches en céréales' and there is only 96 cals a biscuit! Might as well eat the last two I suppose, then I can go back to the shop and get some Milka Dime and then come back to my ghetto hovel where I will probably be found tomorrow, lying face down on my sofa/bed surrounded by chocolate and biscuit wrappers. The post-mortem will identify the cause of death as Lard-Induced Panic Attack.
I remember the days when I used to laugh at this video in a very cruel way, now I'm just Joe Blackburn with nicer hair.