When Routine Bites Hard

‘Classic Post’ - How many bags of crisps have you eaten in one lunch break?

It’s not a question you often hear asked. It’s a good one though. Not ‘how many bags of crisps CAN you eat in one lunch break’. It’s not an eating challenge like the ones you get in America.

Gluttonous Yanks chowing down lard-ass style on a steak the size of a leather holdall full of mud.

This isn’t someone trying to show off.

More, ‘how many bags of crisps have you eaten, casually’? Not trying to set a record. Just snacking whilst watching telly. Consumption by proxy. Idle overindulgence. Mindless grazing.

One moment you’ve popped open a quick bag of Walkers whilst checking out Bargain Hunt.  Next thing, you look back at your lap and see the detritus. The colourful plastic corpses of your fried potato foe. A massacre.

Not many people have an answer. Not many people keep count. Not many people give a toss.

However, I can recall a feat of remorseless eating that does answer this question. A show of power dining so brutal and sneaky that it demands awe.

My Mum ate 7 bags of Hula Hoops in her lunch break. 7 (seven). Alongside her sandwich, and possibly a few chocolate chip cookies.

She claims she didn’t even know it was happening. An out of body experience.

7 whole bags of ready salted Hula Hoops. Jesus, the salt alone must have been an ordeal.

She only gets about 30mins for her lunch as well. Incredible drive.

The only reason this was ever uncovered was because I caught her. With the aid of our dog. I came home to find my Mum in the front room. Sat in a strange ‘oh I really am engrossed in the telly’ way. Bolt upright.  False. Hiding something. Clearly caught off guard by my arrival.

Then I saw it. The tip off. Kaylee (our mostly stupid mongrel Lab hoover bag pooch) was desperately trying to stick her fat head down the side of the sofa, where my Mum was strangely sat – knee jammed against the upholstery. Maureen was trying desperately to stop her getting at something.

What on earth could it be?

I’ll tell you what it bloody was. 7 empty bags of crisps. Frantically stuffed between her leg and the side of the sofa when she heard me coming through the door.

She can’t have been in that much of a trance, not knowing what she was doing with her crisp carnage, if she could get her wits about her to attempt to hide the evidence.

Sneaky Mum.

Sneaky piggy.

Clever doggy.

Lesson learnt. If you’re going to smash an entire box of Ferrero Rocher down in one sitting or a tube of Pringles in 3 mins (both of which my Mum has previous with), then for gods sake lock the door and put the Dog in the kitchen behind her gate.

Then you can eat like a messy Viking, safe in the knowledge your insatiable food lust is your sneaky little lunchtime secret.

And yours alone.