The stock cube incident

I’m on autopilot in the morning. I don’t like to think at that time of day, and I don’t like being distracted. Sometimes, when I’ve stopped at a set of traffic lights, I look down at the foot well and check that I’m wearing shoes and that they match. I’m lucky that I’ve not been guilty of any faux pas more serious than an open button or a jumper on back-to-front, but it’s only a matter of time.

I was tired on Wednesday. My mind was elsewhere. It was breakfast time. I sat down to have my Cornflakes (other breakfast cereals are available). It was like the milk had gone off. I sniffed it. I didn’t detect anything unpleasant, but then I saw the underside of the spoon. What? What? I grabbed my spectacles. I saw a huge brown blob. It didn’t look like one of those mutant cornflakes you sometimes find in a packet, and it was solid. I tried to focus on it, and it was then that the full horror of the situation struck me.

I’d made beef casserole on Sunday. I’d obviously slipped up when washing the dishes. Quality control had broken down, and I was eating cornflakes laced with half a stale stock cube which had been soaked in Fairy Liquid three days earlier. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. They don’t warn you about things like this, though.