MCM Comic Con – Why I Took My Parents

Today, my parents visited. They claimed to be at a loose end. I know they were lying. They visited because they’re horrified at my current squatting arrangements. They also wanted to find out exactly what I’ve been doing.

Turns out that pulling wings off flies and not showering isn’t good enough for them anymore.

That’s how we ended up at MCM Comic Con.

Enthusiastic crowds entering MGM Comic Con

How we arrived at MCM Comic Con

Dragged off my bare mattress at 10:50, I spent the following hour listening to my mother’s half term shenanigans. As a man of leisure, I had very little to contribute, but related to her current ‘lack of direction’.

Dialogue options were exhausted quickly, and I soon started to perceive my flatmates’ agitation about the number of empty wine bottles in plain view.

I had to get them out of the house.

But what could we do? It was raining and I really didn’t want to go to the Tate Modern. So like any lazy and extremely ungrateful son, I checked Time Out.

Despite suggesting every listing in Great Things To Do On Saturday (in a very spooky voice), my mother wasn’t interested in visiting either the Science Gallery’s Anxiety Exhibition or the Hello Kitty 45th Year Anniversary Pop Up.

So, remembering all of those awful ‘It’s On Like Comic Con’ posters, I suggested that we should go to MCM Comic Con.

My father was delighted. Not because he likes comics. He just watches the Big Bang Theory a lot. So we set off to one of the capital’s hellscape, ExCeL London.

Little did my parents know, I’d suggested the destination with redemption in mind.

Does MCM Comic Con Spell Redemption?

Sure. At least that’s what I figured.

Last year’s event included everyone’s favourite sexual harasser, Vic Mignogna, as a special guest. Having not checked this year’s rosta, I assumed it would be just as inappropriate. And everyone knows severe underachievement trumps sexual harassment!

More seriously, I was convinced that wandering around Dockside, gaping at cosplayers and looking at lots of overpriced crap, would help my parents appreciate how lucky they are.

Yes, although they had a completely dysfunctional son, at least he didn’t like comics.

Could there have been a more perfect plan?!

Probably not. At least that’s what my imagination told me.

Before we’d even set off, I could feel the fat wad of cash my parents were going to give to me for being so damn great.

Getting to MCM Comic Con

Homerton to Prince Regent. Citymapper said it was a breeze, and it was. The carriages were rammed so I didn’t have to make conversation.

Even better, while on the DLR, I almost achieved my objective early.

Standing in the rear carriage, I listened to a student, proudly wearing a Sesame Street T-Shirt, recount a story to his mother.

It was about how his recent trip to the pub was derailed. Apparently, when he was leaving his house, a false widow descended from the ceiling and mauled his flatmate.

It went something like this:

It was on her face, and she was like, screaming. But like, she wasn’t scared. Even though she got bitten. Afterwards she said she’d hoped it would turn her into a spiderthing, but it just gave her anaphylactic shock. It’s true. She went to the doctor this week and he said it was lucky that she was already on anti-anxiety meds, as if not, it would have been certain death by swelling.

Student wearing a Sesame Street T-shirt on the DLR. If you want to hear more reiveting stories, he lives in Canning Town

I was delighted.

Surely this idiot was going to MCM Comic Con. That’d show my parents that they’d never had it so good. Better yet, my mother could hear him!

The icing was that my mother used to be an arachnologist, and would know his story was complete bollocks.

While this guy continued to gibber at his mother, I could only smile as MY mother’s face contorted.

I knew then that she must be concluding that her wonderful and definitely not lazy son, knew more about spiders than this student. Even better, she could see that I was still able to leave the house unaccompanied. No moral support from Big Bird necessary.

Low and behold, as the train stopped at Canning Town, he got off. Damn, he wasn’t going to MCM Comic Con.

Then the cosplayers started swarming. The train must have realised, choosing to bypass the two remaining stops, straight to Prince Regent station.

Entering the ExCeL Centre

Escaping the DLR, we were met by Dave the DLR Driver and, er, I dunno, Dorene the Senior Customer Services Advisor.

Dave and Dorene. The only reason the DLR’s still running.

From what I deduced, these are the DLR Danger Duo, everyone’s favourite TFL Superheroes.

In their latest issue they stopped Greedy McReady, the dirty fare evader, from getting to work. Then heroically looked on as a self-driving DLR train stopped when the despicable Dr Extinction Rebellion managed to glue innocent passengers onto the top of a carriage instead of himself. The hilarity!

Dorene tried to give me a high five. Playing it cool, I looked the other way.

Then we walked on to ExCeL London.

The journey presented a great opportunity for my parents to watch cosplayers in the harsh light of day.

That’s why I coaxed my father to have at least two cigarettes before we joined the queue.

It sort of worked. My father gaped at the low cut blouses, fishnet tights and endless folds of flesh.

Henry, everyone’s dressed like schoolgirls. Big boobs, short skirts. Have all these women come as Daisy Duke, or is it Mariner Moon? What happens if I bing Mariner Moon on my Windows Phone?

Henry’s Father musing about life

My mother chastised him.

It’s always great when they’re uncomfortable.

But it didn’t last long. At some point we’d have to go inside.

We hadn’t bought tickets, so we shuffled around the ExCeL Centre. Fortunately, the queue wasn’t too long.

I was also relieved to learn that while evading the shower this morning hadn’t been the right decision, it wasn’t necessarily the wrong one.

Why Is It Still Called MGM Comic Con? Visiting Comic Villiage

Inside, well, inside I was surprised.

All the attendees seemed to be really into the food court. Costumes were also limited.

Maybe cosplayers got special memos saying they were only allowed to come as specific videogame characters (Generic Soldier, Enzo from Assassin’s Creed or something from Borderlands – bleugh), Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker or Spiderman.

Damn. The Joker. Why didn’t I think of that?!

Costumes aside though, I was really impressed by this dude who just bought a red t-shirt and joggers and used a sharpie to transform it into a spiderman costume.

I wanted to get out of the foodcourt, so we headed straight for Comic Village.

It should have been called the Comic Hamlet.

Why? Because MGM Comic Con attendees don’t give a shit about comics.

Wandering around, all the reasonably famous artists, writers and inkers sat alone at their picnic tables. They looked heartbroken.

Yes, no one was asking Glenn Fabry whether Garth Ennis had asked him to insert U2 references into the Preacher cover art for issues 1-66. Attendees didn’t question John Wager on whether the Judge Child’s birthmark was meant to be a backwards elephant instead of an eagle. The crowds were even avoiding asking Sandman inker, Mark Buckingham, whether he purposefully ruined Bryan Talbot’s sketches.

As a son who definitely doesn’t like comics, it really surprised me.

Where the hell was everybody?!

What Do MCM Comic Con Attendees Go To See?

It was still crowded. Attendees were just elsewhere.

After a quick stroll, I deduced that there are four reasons why people go to MCM Comic Con:

  1. Pop in a Box – Funko Pop Vinyls
  2. Marvel Stuff
  3. Each Other
  4. Because they love cats

Yes, everyone was milling around the Funko stand.

Apparently lots of grown people love dolls with big heads. Maybe they fight with them. Maybe they use them impress girls. Or maybe they’re just all strange.

Apparently, attendees also like to buy signed Marvel movie scripts. At MCM Comic Con, you could get three for £30. Crazy.

It’s probably because they love the writing so much. I can’t blame them, what’s better than the final scene of every recent Marvel movie. You know, the one where all the superheroes stand in an awkward pose at the end. It’s like a teaser for the next movie or whatever. Subtle, outstanding dialogue and definitely not formulaic.

Strangely, there were also a load of booths advertising charities for cats.

Look at that head of hair! I’ll never have to worry about balding.

But I guess the biggest reveal was that these people actually seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

While I could laugh at bobbleheads, a love of marvel and cat charities, I couldn’t laugh at friendship.

I think my parents realised that too.

Everyone else there was enjoying themselves. They were having a nice day out. They weren’t sociopaths who hated everything.

By taking my parents to MCM Comic Con, I’d helped them realise that their beloved son was actually a misguided dimwit. It hurt.

Den of Geek – Enjoying the Moment

Self understanding hurts. But only for so long.

That is until someone passes you a free copy of Den of Geek! Thankfully, this happened to me. I skipped straight to page 66 to read the final article, ‘Enjoying the Moment‘.

It was a guide on how to really enjoy MCM Comic Con.

There were five actionable pieces of sage advice. Get ready, this is how you do MCM Comic Con right:

  1. Look at the cosplayers (boobs)
  2. Eat yummy food (yes, a panini from Costa constitutes ‘YUMMY FOOD’)
  3. Remember that the art stands are free exhibitions
  4. Smile at people
  5. Have a good, long sit down

I’m not even joking. Here’s the article:

Den of Geek, Enjoying the Moment – The Definitive Guide to Enjoying MGM Comic Con

Hell, it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t enjoyed MGM Comic Con. I just wasn’t doing it right.

Immediately I knew I had to go next year.

Maybe I’d even take my girlfriend.

We could stare at boobs, eat paninis and smile at people, while sitting down – together.

NB: To my dearest and only readers, Mum and Dad, thanks in advance for understanding why I write such horrible things. And for taking me out today. I’ll try and get a job soon.

REVIEW: All Points East – Victoria Park, Saturday & Sunday – 25 & 26 May 2019

or how Henry learned that day festivals suck (AGAIN)

Thanks to my own initiative (a competition on Dice), I’d bagged entry to All Points East: London’s premier-early-summertime-day-festival in Victoria Park

I was now able to attend performances on both Saturday AND Sunday, which meant I had the chance to see at least two headliners: the Strokes AND Christine and the Queens.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who Christine and the Queens were (probably a French Queens of the Stone Age cover band). I’d finally won tickets to something and two at that!

Like a toddler that hadn’t been changed all day, I felt the urge to roll around and share the glory of my own majesty with everyone.

And what was the easiest way to do that? Reminiscing, stupid!

So I thought back to last year’s All Points East. Oh yeah, I went to that one too and what a time we had!

There was that duet between Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue. It was magical.

Then I remembered feeling totally inspired by Patti Smith’s wail to action. It was also magical.

And as I made sure that the memory was spread evenly across the carpet of my mind, I remembered that everyone had sung in a field of roses, roses without thorns and it was absolute bliss.

Why you should always think a little harder than you actually do

As the memory hit its climax, I remembered Patti Smith calling out to the audience:

Rise up, oh rise up my young flowers, if we all sing together we’ll break the machine and be free to love each other forever. It’s the sixties all over again. Yeah, we changed the world and it’s great now because of us.

Wait, the world isn’t great now, is it?

I then learned that everyone else had won tickets on Dice too.

Then my girlfriend said she didn’t want to come on Sunday.

Then I realised that I wasn’t going to be able to rub anyone’s face in the fact that I’d finally won something.

And then I started to remember that no, last year’s All Points East hadn’t been that good, had it?

I looked on the internet to confirm my suspicions. Reading this review on Resident Adviser just confirmed that people who write for RA take too much ecstasy (it really damages your brain).

Yep, it was confirmed. Last year had definitely been awful.

But I tried to not get myself down. I mean, it was going to be sunny. Maybe I could still drink too much and have a fun time?

Turns out I was wrong. Just like I had been wrong last year.

Having definitely experienced this before and now having absolutely no desire to experience it again, I decided to write down exactly why All Points East was an awful experience (AGAIN) and why I never want to go back, EVER AGAIN.

Henry’s list of things that you should definitely read before accepting tickets to go to All Points East

1. The people often suck

Why do a lot of the people at day festivals suck?

Because they’re the types who think the best place to see Foo Fighters is from the seated bit at the back of Greenwich O2.

It’s not. The best way to see Foo Fighters is sticking your head down a u-bend screaming Monkey Wrench.

I don’t need to labour this further. No, someone provided me with the perfect example while I was queuing on Saturday.

Get comfortable and I’ll set the scene:

To the left there was a poster boasting that Mumford & Sons’ latest LP was the Daily Telegraph’s 2018 Album of the Year. Even though I don’t think it was?

Ahead, there were swathes of white people and despite the overpowering scent of sun block, the back of everyone’s necks and ears were piglet pink.

All Points East - Entrance
I think Instagram invented ‘English people filters’ that help mask all the pink – All Points East: the queue

And get ready, because behind there stood the most disingenuous couple I have ever had the pleasure of eavesdropping on, EVER.

The mysterious couple’s All Points East queue conversation

The girl, “Oh, you know that babe that I’m totally obsessed with on Instagram? Yeah? Well she’s in Majorca and it looks so LUSH. She just looks so LUSH. She’s SO beefed right now. It’s really inspiring me. You know what? I’m gonna go beefer.”  

The guy, “Ah, babe this is why I love you so much. It would be my absolute pleasure to go beefer with you.

The girl then responded, “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH [BEEF] BABE.

Lucky for them, everyone’s cattle prods were confiscated at the entrance.

2. The bands don’t have a very good incentive to play well  

If someone wrote you a check for £50,000 and then said all you had to do was jump around the stage at the petting zoo, would you put on your best performance?

Probably not.

This year, it’s already been reported that the Strokes sounded like underwater karaoke. Look, it’s in the Independent.  

For some reason though, the Independent didn’t get in touch with me for a quote.

It’s a shame because I actually spent most of the Strokes’ performance standing to the right of the main stage – exactly where it sounded bad. I’m afraid that I need to testify that while the Strokes were hard to hear (and there was one hell of a lot of booing), it did not sound like underwater karaoke.

All Points East - the Strokes
Proof that I definitely saw the Strokes. Actually, it does look a little like underwater love – All Points East on Saturday

But I can tell you that it’s a shame it wasn’t underwater karaoke. If it had been, all the people who were singing, “nah-na-nahh-na-nah-nahhhh-nahhhhh,” to that guitar bit that everyone knows in 12:41 would have probably swallowed a little too much water.

3. The blatant commercialism

Is there anything more rock and roll than new tires, credit cards, electronic cigarettes and an inability to seduce someone in person (Tinder, I’m looking at you)?

Apparently not.

All Points East’s website describes the companies that sell all of these great things as partners not sponsors.

You know that’s the corporate way of saying ‘I’m with the band’.

And I hate to labour the point, but the adverts are so hard to ignore.

Here were my favourites:

  1. The Logic Vape tent (how is it ok to advertise vapes but it’s not ok to advertise cigarettes? All those vape adverts just remind everyone that they used to smoke real cigarettes. I mean, if I was working in Marlboro’s advertising department right now I’d just invent a vape that looks like a pack of Marlboro Reds and plaster that everywhere)
  2. The Huawei spying platform (yes, Huawei had a platform directly opposite the main stage, where else would it be?), and
  3. The totally Radical American Express card holders wristband that granted an ever so exclusive set of people access to an ever so exclusive tent at the side, filled with other people who also had American Express cards.

Can you imagine a tent full of people who only have two things in common: an Amex card and a desire to only hang out with other people who have Amex cards?

I bet the Amex tent’s great.

Who doesn’t love spending time at concerts comparing their Experian credit rating (by the way, it’s 300 (that means good 😉 ). How about you send me some money in the post?).

4. No one seems to be angry that it’s blatant commercialism

Let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, at All Points East there was a Tinder Van.

Everyone walked past the Tinder Van and said, “Oh, sweet, it’s really useful that there’s a Tinder Van at All Points East. You know, somewhere you’re able to change partners when you fall out of love for forty minutes and both no longer want to see the same band. It’s just great that you’ll still have someone else’s back pocket to keep your hand warm in.

Then, when Interpol started playing Henry’s girlfriend went up to the Tinder Van and said, “Oh please Tinder Van, can I exchange this Henry for someone who doesn’t want to see Interpol?

And then the Tinder Van lady said “Oh no Henry’s girlfriend, I’m afraid not, this van is just for beer, but if you pull your top down a bit I’ll set you up with a new profile.

And in the end poor little Henry got abandoned at the carousel that looked like it was dancing to the end of the world.

Have you worked out what’s strange about that story yet? You guessed it, no one’s angry that I was abandoned.

All Points East - Tinder Van
The usual suspects at the Tinder Van @ All Points East

Want to hear something else people weren’t angry about?

There was this All Points East app that was meant to tell you when and where your favourite acts were playing. But it’s like they made sure it was completely web-based on purpose.

Of course it wasn’t going to work.

When have you ever had mobile data at a festival?!

The organisers clearly knew it wasn’t going to work. That’s why they hired a bunch of people to stand around with physical guides on really cool lanyards that cost £5 each.

My point here is that no one seemed to care that they were being ripped off. Or angry about anything. It was just kind of like everyone there wanted vanilla icecream and everyone got vanilla icecream.

5. The hypocrisy

I really wanted to see Parquet Courts on Saturday and I did. It was great. I think Parquet Courts are ace.

But, despite a solid performance of Tenderness, no one seemed to take the lyrics to heart.

All Points East - the Apocalypse
#plasticfree @ All Points East. It really looks like the apocalypse, doesn’t it? Were Parquet Courts not just singing about the end of the world?!

And like that magnificent band from New York City, this weekend, I too was left without a fix of a little tenderness.

Excerpt from Parquet Courts’ Tenderness

Nothing reminds the mind of power

Like the cheap odor of plastic

Leaking fumes we crave, consume, the rush it feels fantastic

But like power turns to mold, like a junkie going cold

I need the fix of a little tenderness

Redemption

But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t any good bits.

I mean Jarvis Cocker somehow managed to convince the Hamburglar to join his band.

All Points East - Jarvis Cocker and the Hamburglar
That is definitely Jarvis Cocker and that figure circled in red is definitely the Hamburglar. You believe me right? @ All Points East

Personality of a Sandwich

Imagine; you’re in the dead zone, somewhere between Monday and Friday.

You’re probably at work and to set the scene, I’ll start with something believable: there’s nothing decent to scroll on BBC News.

But look up. The clock on the wall opposite screams salvation.

Finally, it’s lunch!

But something’s wrong.

This giddy hour used to inspire joy, but as you lean forward, arms outstretched, you feel nothing.

And somehow, it stings.

And you, just as I, play out a scenario in your head.

Maybe today’s the day we can say it in unison. 

London, I’m sorry, but you just don’t excite me anymore.

[grab the city’s hand – it’s insecure]

You and these never-ending sandwiches, they’re just so predictable. You need someone less, how do I put it, challenging?

And now the city’s looking back at you, it’s heart shattered and it tries to mouth, “But you could get sushi from Itsu!” but you press your index finger against its lips and you can see a new found understanding in its eyes.

Cutting it short, London mouths, “I understand.”

Wow. I’m surprised at how that scenario played out too. I mean, I didn’t think this city had dignity.

The whole experience is a revelation and naturally,  you want to share it.

Peak over your soundboard.

Meet the blank stare of your colleague and relish the realisation they also haven’t done any work since arrival.

Yes, finally I know what’s wrong! It’s the sandwich that’s the problem.

Momentum builds and you try and speak it out, but suddenly, your boss returns from their noon-time excursion.

They cast aside a paper bag from Eat and clutching a plastic wrapped baguette they announce with fervour to the desk bank, “I got chicken salad!

Breathe_In_and_Out
It’s wonderful that eateries provide anxiety relieving devices with every purchase. I mean, most of us have two hands, so what else could they be for?

And deep down, you know, it’s not safe to share this epiphany. Maybe it won’t ever be.

So, as my single protest of the day, here’s a list of everyone else’s failings as defined by their choice of sandwich.

1. Homemade Monstrosity

If you managed to make your own lunch, commendable effort. I applaud you.

It won’t be very good (compare it to mine and weep).

best_sandwich
This one’s complicated. If you want to try and recreate it, please check with your parents before you use the sharp knife.

As I understand it, only the following truly count as homemade sandwiches:

  • Peanut Butter. A rough staple. Apparently a layer of margarine will prevent you from gagging on it. But hell, no one likes peanut butter and margarine, so please muffle the choking.
  • Spaghetti. It only counts as a sandwich filling if it comes from a can. A single, lonesome can. The bread will be sodden. I’ve tried it and yes, cannot wait for the apocalypse.
  • Crisps. The lunch of the pauper king. Combine the two most important staples of the English diet to become the  turbo-carbohydrate-based-killer you’ve always wanted to be. (NB: To think this was a good idea, you’d probably have to be high. Supporting the widely robust theory that eating sandwiches at work normalises drug abuse)

After consuming nothing but a smattering of these sandwiches for lunch, I know definitively that only person who would eat any of these is one of the following:

  • Idiot savant
  • Wants to be in a nu-metal band (probably Korn)
  • Hasn’t dry-cleaned their suit trousers, despite their mother’s protests, since purchase

Advice: Avoid eye contact. 

Pro-tip: Colleagues who make their own sandwiches sometimes express their personalities through the pictures on their lunchboxes. Dora the Explorer means that they’re crudely progressive. A picture of a cat is generally a reminder that they regret eating their cat. Don’t ever talk to them about it.

2. The Tesco Triangle

People buy sandwiches at Tesco because they’re misinformed.

I can help with that.

Value_Sandiwch
This diagram was smuggled out of a Tesco sandwich making factory. The instructions help inspire employees to be more productive

The first pitfall encountered when buying a sandwich from Tesco, is that in London, you could have always gone to Sainsbury’s instead. It’s the same entrance fee and normally better. But I understand, sometimes an extra fifty meters is too far to waddle.

Ingeniously, Tesco dropped the shock white & blue that helped the common man and woman recognise their value range. But, really, has anyone ever been misled by their new sandwich packaging? There’s only so much that a cellophane window can hide. And, true to value, when you gaze in, you’re probably looking at a sandwich built out of ingredients that were chemically treated to meet the standards necessary for human consumption.

Delicious.

Advice: Never, ever, ever talk to someone who willingly buys Tesco triangle sandwiches for lunch. They’ll copy your work and take the credit, then they’ll suggest that everyone gets together tomorrow to eat triangle sandwiches on the park bench outside the office, while they look for diverted buses that don’t belong on the routes they are travelling.

Fucking horror show.

3. Supermarket Sandwich in a Paper Bag

It’s in a bag. It’s in a really fancy bag and that bag is on the top shelf of the freezer section. The bag’s a different colour to the flat-packed triangle sandwiches! And the bag carries the subtitle; ‘Wild Boar Pulled Pork from the Everglades: Taste the Difference’.

IT’S IN A BAG! It is so, so sophisticated. Only the most sophisticated people eat sandwiches from bags.

Keep lying to yourself.

All manufactured sandwiches were made equal.

That sandwich in a bag was made on a conveyor belt. The same conveyor belt that someone was paid to watch. The same conveyor that mayonnaise dropped down onto from tubes above. Mayonnaise that fell at exactly the right time to catch the flight path of bluebottle, dousing it and forcing it onto the ‘mature’ cheese below.

Damn, they have so much extra packaging too. Do the people who buy these sandwiches think that their extra £1.40 gives them the right to more packaging? Probably.

These sandwiches are like that colleague, who has always earned the same as you, but rather than going to parties, they lived at their parents’ until thirty, then bought a house. Is owning things an achievement? Totally. So’s eating a sandwich bought in a bag.

Advice: People who eat these types of sandwich buy the bag, not the sandwich. Under their breath they whisper to you: “Yes, I eat well. My waistline says it all. But no, I wasn’t fattened on value corn chips. I’m privileged. I eat only the finest snacks. At least that’s what the guy in the off-licence tells me.” Talk to them, but only in a condescending manner. Don’t worry, they don’t yet comprehend that bags should be reusable, so they won’t be offended by your tone.

4. Pret Baguette

Pret-a-Manger openly admit that its ingredients have aspirations.

Their posters show the collective efforts of:

  • A bagel, a slice of avocado, and some olives trying to making a friendly face
  • Some wraps building a tepee
  • The unlikely trio of a baguette, a block of edam, and skewered olive sinking like a groovy submarine

And yeah, I’m onto them.

It’s all a cruel joke.

It all starts when the ingredients are sourced.

The Pret wholesale buyers head out to the fields in the morning.

On arrival, they don their leather gloves and start scouring the fields for a certain type of ingredient.

Tomatoes with that particular twinkle in their eyes, beetroots destined to sing and chickens who want to explore their sexuality in the city, away from the judgements of the countryside.

The buyers then play on their victims hopes and dreams. “Yes Tamara Tomato, hop into my van, I’ll show you the city. We’ve got plenty of veg like you that wants to be something more than you could ever be here on this bleak farm.”

And as those naive vegetables, chickens, and assorted tubers tumble around in the back of a van, they don’t for one second think that they’re about to be asked to strip naked and told to stand on the head of another young thing to form strange shapes, as a seedy photographer snaps away. Nor do they anticipate that after such humiliation, they’ll be dragged into the kitchen and ground into a ‘Super Club’.

 

tamara
Behind the counter at Pret-A-Manger. Haven’t you ever wondered if that tomato had dreams?

Shattered dreams – is that the cost of having no best before labels?

Advice: Knowing this, I hope you, just as I, are shocked. Too shocked to speak to anyone who has ever been into Pret-a-Manger ever again.

Anyway, now you know this, I hope you enjoy your lunch.