Well, that’s the last of the tins. I’ve even got through the beaten up ones with no labels. They were mostly beans – not even something exciting or disgusting. Just another disappointment.
All I got now is the bumper collection of flours and wholegrains. Funny, nobody seems to think about their fibre intake when they’re raiding. I got yeast and sugar and salt, but no spirit fuel or gas left to cook on, and the electric hotplate uses too much juice. Just getting it warm means cycling out more calories than I’d get from the food I cook on it. Instead, I soak grains like couscous and quinoa in cold water until they’re soft, and I make little flour and water patties to eat raw while I watch vids of fresh-baked bread and try to persuade myself I can smell it. My only daily treat is sugar, but that won’t last forever, either.
No chance of heating – the only way to get warm here is by a bracing few minutes on the exercise bike, then straight into the double-layered sleeping bags to retain as much heat as I can. Washing’s a trauma, but it’s not like I’ve got to keep up my standards for anybody in particular. I remember when the DJ booth was stifling, even in winter – especially in winter. The radiator takes up half the wall. I think about the good old days I hated so much, when I’d struggle with the lunchtime dilemma of going past Coll or broiling to death at my desk.
One day I’ll run out of food. What then? With one of my main contacts missing and another on his way to the quarantines, we all seem to be on the brink. I hope Mei’s still reading, even if she can’t post. I miss her, and that encouraging certainty she had that there’s always a right thing to do and I’ll eventually do it.
Will I leave this place when I run out of food, or just die where I sit? That’s the only dilemma I have left to entertain you with. Stay tuned, folks.