Shortly after ten o'clock I could be found cooking a veritable mountain of bacon. There were only eight of us so twenty rashers of smoked back were judged ample, placed in a pre-warmed dish and rushed to the table along with two dozen crusty cobs. As the food started to disappear it became apparent that more bacon was needed so I returned to the kitchen and another thirty rashers of finest streaky were cooked and delivered to the table.
Now, I like my food but even I could only manage two cobs, both of which were packed with ample rashers of bacon, so I was somewhat amazed that 30%'s Dad and Sister both managed three. Neither of them are big people, her sister is positively tiny, but Christ can they put food away.
However, neither Roy nor Amy won the pig of the pig award. That honour was bestowed on Mrs Tweedy. At this point I should probably clarify Mrs Tweedy's identity. Back in the Summer 30%'s Mum and Dad did a spot of dog sitting whilst we had an overnight stay with friends in Cheshire. Tyson reported that she had found 30%'s mum squeezing the chickens in order to extract the eggs and from that day forward she has developed a reputation as the nemesis of hens much like the character Mrs Tweedy in the Aardman Animation Film Chicken Run.
Now our Mrs Tweedy is not a big woman either, apparently there have been occasions when she has borrowed 30%'s sisters clothes.** Hopefully, by now, you have developed a picture of a somewhat shrewish woman with a frame that is erring towards gaunt. Well, this morning I was sat next to her and
happened to notice that a couple of bites in to her first bacon cob she paused and returned the roll to her plate. She opened the already healthily crammed butty and then added several more rashers of bacon to produce a bacons sarnie with a bacon to bread ratio*** even I would be amazed by.
I casually mentioned this to 30% later in the day and she confirmed that she too had noticed this boxing day gluttony and had been equally amazed.
---* Generally I go with brown sauce with bacon and tomato ketchup with sausages. Don't ask me why but to reverse this arrangement is anathema to me … positively a crime against nature.
* The word mutton would normally come to mind but fucking sad and delusional is probably closer to the truth.
*** A mathematical model has been developed here at The Pile that determines whether there is sufficient bacon in the sandwich. At least 20% of the sandwich must be bacon, preferably much closer to 100%