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Hoses of the Holy in the Parallel Universe

May 23, 2005

Dead caterpillars

As you know, since I hit 35 I've been a fat bastard.

Something to do with an obscene ability to consume alcohol and changing metabolic rates. It happened overnight. I was once more "scrawny" than a smack addict. Girls used to comment on how thin and tall I was. Looking even more like a little-boy-lost street urchin than Pete Doherty. Then one day a drunken stranger on the train said to me in a moment of in vino veritas, "you're hardly thin are you?"

And lo! I wasn't.

All you slightly fat youngsters should take note therefore. At 35 you will suddenly quadruple in belly radius without any change in your lifestyle at all. And it'll happen when you aren't looking.

Anyhows, that's enough preamble. I want to talk about tea. Green tea.

Like, in this modern age when all the amphetamine producers around the world flood your mind with guerilla marketing to make you feel guilty about being a fat bastard, you find yourself undertaking detox and slimming diets.

Tea and coffee are well poisonous and fattening, so you have to have green tea. Made of things like rhubarb and bramble, or cabbage and rosehip, or old sock.

Today I've got nettle tea. It doesn't actually taste that bad. But when I put hot water on it, it smelt of old wilted leaves, like whenever I had caterpillars in a jar full of plucked leaves as a child.

Wonder if any of my old school friends can remember the deadly nettle beer that Julian made, with bleached dead caterpillars floating gracefully around in the demi-johns like frozen spacemen?

And the catchphrase "Jeff Pukes a Pint"?

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