It's in the way that you walk,
All of the changes, all the mistakes,
It's in the demands you constantly make ..
A few days back I was re-linked to that story from recently about Henry Hargreaves, the artist who recreated the final meals requested by death row inmates. A quick Google search should lead you there pretty quickly, The Guardian, Huffington Post and the Daily Fail seem to have the best articles on it.
It got me thinking the first time round and its got me wondering again: were I to be executed, what would I choose for my final meal? I've been giving it more thought than I did the last time, mainly because at the moment I'm living at home eating real people food again and it's making me more thankful for it.
For a long time, the answer involved some variety of smothered chicken with home-made chips, with a decent takeaway style pizza coming in a close second.
Because I love pizza and chicken.
Possibly more than my immediate family.
I'll leave that one for them to interpret. Bear in mind it's my birthday in 26 days.
But I digress.
Chicken or pizza would be a stonking way to leave this earth. A decent steak wouldn't be bad either. Or a plate of proper fish and chips, with mushy peas and all the trimmings. A big cup of tea. A tasty milkshake. All excellent requests for the last supper. However, a recent trip to the supermarket also made me think about the pleasure that could be derived from the simplest of meals. This isn't of course to say that the above foods wouldn't be tremendous.
But - do you all remember Golden Grahams? I saw them in the shop the other day. They disappeared off the shelves for a good while but they seem to have made a resurgence in recent years. And seeing them again yesterday after a long stint without their goodness made me realise that there is a part of me which would be satisfied, were I to be summarily executed, with a big bowl of Golden Grahams.
Ohhhh yes.
Such good stuff. I don't even know what flavour they're meant to be.
Given the choice, I'd prefer not to reach the premature pinnacle of my life through something as trivial as the over-consumption of breakfast cereal, but for these things I'd probably make an exception. The lure for them was as strong in that supermarket the other day as it had been during the late 90's when I was first eating them.
"Hey", they called. "Remember how good we taste? Buy us, dickhead."
I'm rarely insulted by cereal. It's even less common that I stand there and take it. But I will not take lip from ANY cereal, least of all an old favourite with a name as fucking stupid as 'Golden Grahams', tasty as they may be.
So I kicked the shit out of that cereal aisle; an epic beating, like something out of Rocky. And shoppers looked on, shaking their heads.
"I tripped on this shelf of Golden Grahams while reading about the saturated fat content" I said, maintaining composure. It's important not to lose face in front of onlookers. This wasn't easy because I was crying. I cry when I get angry, like inverse-Hulk. My trousers were also torn off at the knees.
And ultimately I didn't buy it. I went home, and later, as I sat watching the Olympic swimming with a bowl of Bran Flakes, I lamented not buying the Golden Grahams. Bran Flakes are alright, but they can't hold a candle to Golden Grahams. And I thought, "If I were to die now, I'd be less than peachy with my choice of Bran Flakes as the last thing I ever eat." And it was at this point that I realised that Golden Grahams truly were final meal material.
And I'm giving a lot of thought as to how exactly I'll enact this plan during my twilight hours. Its entirely feasible that I'd die of a happiness-induced heart attack. Which would save the time and effort of all involved.
