When two worlds collide: a 1997 Paul McCartney album and its influence on the trailblazing decision to put chilli in a pie.
A week before lockdown is announced there are rumours it's coming. I go out to buy food, feeling panicked, though it goes without saying I'm not panic-buying.
I am trying the 5:2 diet, because I heard it facilitated George Osborne's transformation from awful bastard into slightly thinner awful bastard. This requires planning, especially where lunch is concerned, because it turns out that on your low-calorie days getting the turkey club sandwich from Sainsbury's will mean all you're allowed to eat for the rest of the day is dust and grass.
I’m heading home doing a mental fridge/cupboard inventory, and I’ve got all this stuff to use up. An onion on its last legs. Two rashers of bacon that I’m not wholly convinced haven’t gone off. Massive reserves of pasta and frozen peas. I Google a recipe. All I need is to score some soured cream on the way home. I can do that. I can do anything.