Pie

Every morning this week, as I’ve skipped down the stairs at the station to the platform I’ve been overwhelmed by the need for a pie.

Those troublesome monkeys from The Crusty Cornwall Big Fat Meat Pie Company (or something like that) have started to switch on their ovens early, and as such, the whiff of slowly cooking cow, pea and potatoe at 7am is almost too much to bear.

(As an aside, I don’t actually really like savoury pie. I will, of course, make the best of a bad dinner job, and have been known to chow down on a chicken and mushroom after a night on the piss. I’ve even, heaven help me, had a mince and onion (or so they say) when the pennies where tight and they were on special at Iceland for tuppance. But as a rule, I’m more of a sweet pie person…apple, apple and blackberry, apple and raisin with a hint of spice, apple and apple…)

But the intoxicating aroma of those crusty south coast delights has had me in a spin for four mornings on a trot now.

So, ladies and gentlemen. The question of the day is – will I give in come tomorrow morning. Will temptation get the better of me, and will I find myself at 7.05am tomorrow shovelling pastry and chunks of indistinguishable meat down my throat with a glazed, almost simpleton looked on my face and a stream of gravy down my chin….???

Only time will tell people. Only time will tell....