I grew up in a family of vegetarians.
There was actually a stage in which my older brother turned us all VEGAN (it remains one of the most traumatic periods of my life), so as a family we were forced into drinking rice milk and couldn’t eat Cheerios because THE HONEY WAS CRUEL TO THE BEES.
(I should point out that my brother was heavily influenced at the time by his meek, mild, TREE-HUGGER of a girlfriend, who didn’t believe in drinking and used to carry a spade in her handbag so she could dig a hole and shit in the woods. We never quite got along).
Anyway, being a big animal lover, I trundled along quite nicely as a vegetarian over the years. Why would I want to eat a cow? So sweet! SO FURRY! Awww look at that adorable chicken! LET ME PICK IT UP AND GIVE IT A GIANT KISSY!
However, at the age of 20, I left my home in Wales and moved to London.
And something… happened. Something dark. Something disturbing.
It would turn midnight, I’d have sunk a few bottles of gin, when I would start to get these… how can I put this lightly… RAW BLOODIED MEAT CRAVINGS.
It became a dirty secret. Ostentatiously picking off the pieces of pepperoni from a shared pizza, then secreting them in my handbag to gorge on later. Leaving the flat under cover of darkness (If I had owned a balaclava I would have worn it) to get my sick thrills at the local kebab shop.
But things really hit a low point when I went back to my parents house for Christmas and went out clubbing with the girls. Oh that night. GOD FORGIVE THAT FATEFUL NIGHT.
Bursting home at 4am, wild-eyed and smelling of tequila, I cavorted to the kitchen looking for my fix. The meat. WHERE IN THE LOVE OF GOD WAS I GOING TO FIND ANY MEAT?!!
And then it hit me. Freddie. Our puppy. Freddie, our adorable little cocker spaniel puppy. He was in the process of being trained and some meaty, puppy training treats in the fridge (you thought I was going to say that I ate Freddie, didn’t you?)
So I did it. Sat at the kitchen table, I ate Freddie’s puppy training treats. Looking at the packet, they were described as containing ‘meat-based matter’. I can’t quite bring myself to think of what that matter may be.
Morning comes. Mother bursts in. ‘SOMEBODYS EATEN FREDDIE’S TRAINING TREATS!!!!!’ she cries.
‘CHRIST ON A BLUE BIKE!!’ I reply, trying to match her tone and stifle a meat-based matter burp.
We never did get to the bottom of where Freddie’s treats went. My suggestion that perhaps Freddie opened the fridge and helped himself- ‘GOOD GOD, THE DOG’S A GENIUS, MOTHER!’ wasn’t met with much enthusiasm.
Now, the fact that I still insist on being a vegetarian has become somewhat of a running joke amongst my friends.
And now of course, I’m going on a bloody cookery programme. Where I shall probably get drunk and ask my date to ‘slip me some sausage under the table’ and promptly be arrested.
P.S thank you SO MUCH to whoever has followed or liked this blog so far, absolute legends. When I reach 500 followers we are all having a massive party.