There had been times as teenager, sat around the family dinner table, when he dreamed of what it must be like to eat by himself. To be able to eat what you want, when and where you want everyday, even if it meant eating what you had yesterday, or desert served first, or simply desert three times in a row. There was no question about it, to eat by oneself must be an incredible luxury. Without greens, or questions about what had he been doing that day at school, and a sister that kicked him under the table until he reacted, and was then reproached for doing so. Just what it must be like to eat by oneself was beyond what he was able to grow in the fertile fields of his young imagination. And at first, eating by himself had exceeded all of his expectations. He was able to feast on custard donuts for breakfast, cheese and onion pasties for lunch, and bowls of Rice Crispies covered with heaped spoonfuls of white sugar for dinner, which was served intermittently through the night as he flicked between cable television channels.
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White paper, colour one-sided front and back covers, black and white inside.
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