Warning: this is a post about fruit

The thing of it is though, that I really do hate apples.

Perhaps hate is a bit of a strong word. Perhaps an irrational loathing of fruit is symptomatic of some deeper issue (let us not forget that this is the mind that brought you fear-of-drowning-while-drinking-a-glass-of-water, and the hitherto unexplored fear-of-posting-car-keys-when-posting-a-letter-to-the-extent-that-keys-must-be-put-in-pocket-and-checked-before-allowing-hands-anywhere-near-the-postbox. I mean, if I posted my keys, what on earth would I do? Who do you tell? Who would help (especially if, as I secretly also fear, I have also posted my mobile phone, wallet/purse/thing, and rational mind)?).

Whatever. The truth of the matter is that I can’t be bothered with eating apples. I mean, where’s the fun? They are cold. The skin gets caught between your teeth. There are random fluffy warm brown spots and you can’t tell where they are until you have bitten into one. There might be insects in there, for crying out loud. And they don’t even taste every nice, and you have to work hard to eat one, and besides, they aren’t made of chocolate, or fish and chips, or peanut butter on white toast, or Wimpy quarterpounders with cheese and that gorgeous orangey-coloured burger sauce that looks so vile but tastes so good, or anything else that I CAN’T EAT because of the stupid diet I’m on. Stupid diet. Stupid me for spending the whole of last summer eating pub food, curries, chocolate and many, many Pringles. Stupid me for drinking gallons of lager. Stupid, stupid me for not only not losing the weight I put on in Mexico last May, but for going on to gain another, horrifying, nine pounds!! My god, it’s a wonder the Other Half hasn’t drugged me and smuggled me off to have a gastric band fitted.

Oh, and another thing, while we’re on the subject. I quite like bananas but I don’t like to eat a banana where anyone can see me. If you are as sad and creepy as me you will have observed that boys are allowed to peel a banana and just pop it in their mouths without a sudden shift in the attitude of any passing member of the opposite sex. With girls, it’s different. You try sitting in a meeting with six male colleagues and eating a banana the boys’ way without an outbreak of sniggering and innuendo. I am sometimes tempted to do exactly that and then shout “for god’s sake, I’m not sucking a COCK here!!”, just to scare the crap out of them. But I’m really not that brave and so, if I find myself in the unenviable position of eating a banana in public, I do it like the girl that I am. You know the one, ladies. Peel the banana, break a bit off and eat it, making sure not to make eye contact with any men while you do it. Honestly. It’s like Victorian England in the boardroom of a Wednesday morning.

I am now secretly quite concerned that once I turn my mind to it I seem to have rather a lot to say about fruit.