Gimme More

I was sitting in my study doing what I always swore that I would never do, and which I do every day - eating at my computer while I work. Today I was fashioning my next Parish Rag, so in one hand I grappled a very substantial bacon sandwhich and with the other, moved images around a screen

This, my brothers and sisters (and those who may be unsure), is the meat and potatoes of a good curacy. Sling a little prayer in there and you fast discover the reason why no curate is ever unhappy and never complains (sorry, I choked on a crumb) - in short, the joy of tending to the Vine whilst nomming on moreish food (not moorish food - that is 'meze' and most made using bulgar wheat).

I have often wondered why such food is irresistable, almost universally. My chew of choice, the bacon sandwhich, is the Prince of Dishes - closely followed by none less than the choc-chip cookie, another present feature dans la salle du cuisine Aculaire. What makes such food so moreish? I don't find this phenomenomenomenon with other food like, say, carrots or even cheese - but some things just cannot be resisted and are not so much consumed as consume (to the tune of 'Make me a Channel of Your Pizza'). Whatever I may have just eaten, and in whatever quantity, if I see a chocchip cookie or smell cooking Pig Flesh - I just gotta have it. It might even prove to be a Mr Creosote moment with his Waffer Theen Meent, but I just gotta have it. I feel called to lyrical outburst:

Oh Bacon Roll, oh Bacon Roll;

Can I hear you Calling?

Oh Bacon roll, oh Bacon roll

Recieve by my mouth a mauling.

Is it me, or can you talk?

My spindly legs you cause to walk?

Oh Bacon Roll, oh Bacon Roll;

In love with you I'm falling!