The Dawn of the Food Police

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but that is what it is like at mealtimes around here nowadays. Some do try to run, others do try to hide, but since the coup, the food police have increased their ranks quite considerably, so escape is not easy.

There are rumours, though, of some escaping the tyranny.

Some say that the zealotry of the food police is all down to the fact that they are exempt from the five-a day-directive and the sugar and salt laws. Some even dare to whisper that the food police even have secret takeaway outlets deep within their headquarters. There they can get all the things now banned under the Healthy Eating Laws.

Us old ones, now that we are apparently, living longer (it certainly feels like it without anything nice to look forward to) do our best. We tell the young ones stories of bacon, of lard, of pies and pizzas. We recount the legend of the couple of pints and a curry on a Friday night.

Sometimes, when everyone is feeling weak and quaking at the thought of another lettuce leaf, we talk of fish and chips.

But the food police will always come for us, we know that. There will come the screech of brakes and the fading wail of the sirens as the Food Police cycle up and stop at some nearby house. Moments later, there are the now familiar sounds of the Food Police battering down the door before they drag some poor souls from their beds. The Anti-Snack snatch squad bag up and take the evidence of fried food or over-sweetened tea. Then the miscreants, the freedom fighters, the resistance leaders, are taken away. Usually, they are sentenced to re-education at the Heath farms. More often than not, they are never seen again… well, never seen as they used to be. Their bodies come back learn and fit-looking, but the greasy shine has gone from their skin and their eyes. All the old love of food and indolence, the good life, has been erased. All replaced with a zealotry about healthy food and a burning need to go jogging at least three times a week. Sometimes – with all hope eradicated – some have even become vegetarians… or worse.

Gone are the days when, once home from work, we could lounge on out sofas and watch TV. Now all that is on the TV are exercise programmes and healthy eating cooking shows. Sometimes the sight of one more leotard-clad harridan hectoring you from the TV or another episode in 365 Ways of Serving a Lentil becomes too much for the heart to bear.

The problem is, though, with the healthy-living dictatorship, the food police and even the young five-a-dayer scouts and guides, everyone is living longer, living healthier… and living in hell.

We sit there, toying with our cucumber and reluctantly sipping our vegetable smoothies. All dreaming of the days we lost. Each of us lost in a reverie for the good old days, when food was interesting and life was worth living. Each hoping and longing for the day this tyranny is overthrown and each freeborn Englishman once again has the freedom to eat chips in this once-great land.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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