I suppose there came a time where he just grew fed up with it all. Why didnt he go the route of dumbells and protein shakes? darker times i suppose.
So he ate.He ate cinammon buns, sausage rolls , custard with pud' pud' - lots of custard ,yellow gooey custard.He would stick his thin scalpel fingers and scoop it into his mouth ; and all this would be just for breakfast.
O and Lunch would be equally lavish affair. Hulking joints of meat ; sirlions , topside ,flanks . You name it he ate it ,preferably oozing in gravy - he loved the stuff.He poured it over steaks , over potatoes , over flaky little pud' pud'.He'd use it to cement these mixtures , these minature meat gravy cakes and slowly raising his spoon to his mouth -for he ate every dish with a spoon - he would smack his chops around the spoon; then compressing his mouth tightly around it he would slurp it down with a slight gurgling noise.
As he grew larger and larger he recieved less visitors , choosing instead to devote himself to his food and his cook. Mealtimes were a time of contemplation to savour these rich and corpulent dishes ; each raise of his hefty arm, a thanksgiving ; each movement of his tongue : adoration.
The years went by and became bed ridden. His sides cascading over the edges the bed .He rarely moved execpt to recieve the 'body' of a small bird or rabbit wrapped in rashers , coated in gravy ; then , a small smile would spread around his portly features.
The day of his death I will never forget.I arrived on one of my increasingly rare visit. He seemed asleep when I approached his cavernous bed.His arms nestled in rows of fat and vomit. His body was splattered with the remains of his last meal. He had choked , yet his face was not the grotesque masque you would imagine - it shone , beaming with satisfaction from a life lived with pleasure.
