I take longer now in supermarkets, squinting at the salt content of food for thought and the percentage of fat in the food of love. I accept that we need to eat the rich but when did maths displace morality as our primary concern? When did the figurative enter the realm of BOGOF and loss leaders? When did Keith, our Customer Experience Consultant, decide to place that stacked standee of tricksy treats exactly where our hands will always fall? I accept that unimportant details are eating into my time, and that the forbidden apple of my eye may rot my teeth, but there are warnings to be digested around every bottle and can, and there are plastic sacks full of fresh air and fresh starts teetering at the bagging area. There are children’s faces printed on every label, with illegible details and dead numbers. I long to eat but bones hook my tender skin like words hook my eyes. A spoonful of sugar dissolves in the ocean. I now long to take supermarkets to task for failure of disclosure. I long but don’t belong. We’ll eat again, Vera. Don’t be long.
Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor