Fat Apples
We didn’t mean to eat in the café, but it was too tempting and we gave in to two forks and a vast plate of vegetarian joy.
‘Owner says you’re walking. Where’re you heading?’ Two Australians sat down at our table, followed by two mounds of all-day breakfast. One each. I tried not to breathe too deeply, the smell was so good.
‘Not sure now, just going with the weather. What about you?’
‘We’ve camped and done hotels to here. Getting colder though, so B & B all the way for us now. Falmouth next, drop the tent in a charity shop, then I’m going to the hairdresser’s, got to get my roots done.’
‘Wow, luxury. Haven’t seen my hair for days.’
‘You know what, gal, best not to look. Ha, wow, look at all this food. If I ate this much at home I’d be as fat as a pig. On this path all I want to do is eat, eat, eat. It’ll have to stop when I get home though.’
Was I envious of their mass consumption of food and the prospect of a bed and a bath every night? The food undoubtedly, the constant background hunger was something I’d have happily exchanged for a regular meal, but we could survive without the bath and bed.