Speis

I don't know where to start.

This is my lunch. There's too much in it, but I'm not complaining about that. There should always be too much in a sandwich. Nothing worse than lifting a pallid slice of bread to see a few lone strips of ham and a glob of mustard.

The problem with the roll is that you have to overfill it. You're cutting down the middle of a cylinder, right, and you're opening it out to fill with delicious ingredients. Now, I'm no scientician, but there's no way to seal that cylinder up again without spilling the filling all over your desk. Call it the 'end of holiday suitcase effect'. So you clamp it shut and lunge it at your open mouth.

But that doesn't work because the best way to approach it would be with the open side on top, to prevent the whole thing sliding out the side as you crunch onwards. But few people have a mouth that wide. So you nibble at the side like a mouse tackling a piece of corn.

And you can't stop. Because the filling is always on the verge of flying in all directions. Every time you increase or reduce the pressure on the roll, bits dribble out. Hold it up to grab a mouthful of coke and everything drops onto your lap.

It's a very silly way of eating lunch.

I could go on.

I think I will.

There are the days when you decide you want sauce or dressing and you end up wearing sweet chilli sauce on your hands and mouth for the rest of the day. Or it's late in the afternoon and the roll isn't soft and springy but hard and jagged and you can feel your gums bleed every time your teeth clamped into this toughened yeast treat.

Don't get me started on the difficulties of eating a breakfast roll, with sausage, bacon, fried egg and ketchup all quivering precariously on a mound of hardened lard, as the people around you try to remember what CPR stands for.

I suppose you could ask the deli lady to cut your roll in half but frankly that makes you a bit of a sissy in my book.