Food for Thought

Of all the people you will meet (most likely very many)
One thing will be as true of one as likely true of any.
Though some will be kind-hearted, genuine, as nice as pie,
Some will as likely shake your hand as poke you in the eye;
A fair old few will have good manners; plenty will be rude;
But to a man (and woman) every one will love their food.

Unfortunately, though we all love food - as well we should -
We also know too much of it won’t do us any good.
Indulging all your favourite things can lead to heart disease,
And eating too much fatty food will clog your arteries.
Propensity to piggish eating perfectly prepares
You for a time when you can’t climb a single flight of stairs;
Just finding clothes to fit you is an awfully taxing chore;
You eat so much you get so tired you have to eat some more.

Obesity’s increasing see - kids eat too much these days,
And seem to be increasingly prone to unhealthy ways.

No longer are they outdoors, seeing all there is to see:
They’re battling space monsters in another galaxy.
All day they play computer games and watch the TV set,
Their contact with the world restricted to the Internet.
Kids used to kick a football in the park as you passed by.
These days they sit at home and watch The Premiership on Sky.
Apparently the Great Outdoors has little to enjoy.
All Playstation, no play, they say, makes Jack a fatter boy.

So here’s a cautionary tale to stop you in your tracks
And give you food for thought so you’ll go easy on the snacks.

A little boy called Gordon couldn’t help himself but eat
(In truth a bigger little boy you wouldn’t care to meet).
He gulped and guzzled, chewed and swallowed, ate and ate,
Devouring every scrap and morsel sitting on his plate.
And when his food was finished and his plate had been licked clean,
And there was not a mouthful left to eat or to be seen,
His piggy little eyes would dart from right to left to right
And heaven help you should your own food ever catch his sight.
For he’ll move quicker than you think, this greedy little tyke,
And Gordon hasn’t met a meal yet he didn’t like.

In no specific order Gordon’s favourite foods would be:
Fried chicken, sweet and sour chicken, chicken fricassee,
Cold chicken fillets, chicken legs, chicken tikka masala,
Lasagne, pasta, pizza pie, spaghetti carbonara,
Tagliatelle, vermicelli, penne, cannelloni,
Risotto, rigatoni, ratatouille, ravioli,
Beluga caviar, smoked salmon, lobster béarnaise,
Crisp sandwiches, kebabs, Pot Noodles, chips and mayonnaise,
Roast beef, roast lamb, roast mutton, pork medallions, fillet steak,
Tiramisu, pavlova, apple strudel, chocolate cake…

I think you get the picture - Gordon’s appetite was vast
And meant he wolfed down every meal as if it were his last.
And one snack in particular would prove to be a traitor:
His favourite of all foodstuffs - but we’ll get to that part later.

So really in comparison that child Augustus Gloop
Might just as well have lived on salad, vegetables and soup.

Now I know what you’re thinking: ‘This is all his parents’ fault.
The onus is on them to bring this eating to a halt.’
You wouldn’t be wrong either, but they tried to come between
Their son and gluttony, and did their best to intervene.

It just wasn’t that simple keeping food out of harm’s way:
His mum would hide the shopping, dad would keep their boy at bay,
But Gordon was determined - he’d look under every bed,
Inspect the tops of every cupboard, check the garden shed.

And on those rare occasions where their efforts were successful
The consequences proved to be a thousand times more stressful.

One such time, for example, in just under half an hour,
The greedy guzzler gobbled down a kilogram of flour.
Though that seems rather dignified compared to when he stole
The marrowbone and jelly contents of the doggy bowl.
Poor Spartacus, the family dog, came back that day to find
That where his dinner should have been was Gordon’s fat behind,
As on his hands and knees this loathsome lad lapped up the last
Of Spartacus’s dog food.  Gordon’s parents were aghast.

From that day on they gave up putting Gordon on a diet.
They couldn’t stop him eating, and elected not to try it.

But still he searched the house from top to bottom just in case
His mum and dad had been remiss and left some food some place:
On one of these excursions he unearthed a plastic bag
That proved to be a Godsend, a bonanza bag of swag,
And plonked himself down then and there upon the garage floor
To gorge himself on anchovies and three-day-old coleslaw,
Dry Weetabix, a jar of mustard - and the most depressing
Of all the details is he washed it down with salad dressing.

But on another day, as Gordon rummaged round the attic,
He made a new discovery - one that would prove dramatic.

For as he rifled through the boxes, bags and bric-a-brac
He clumsily collided with a ladder which fell back
And clattered quite erratically into a cluttered crowd
Of ornaments of which his mum and dad had once been proud.

And in among the nik naks that dispersed in disarray
Emerged a dusty old lamp, hitherto hidden away.

This curious green and gold thing had a life all of its own
And bounced across the attic floor just like a skimming stone
Until it was at Gordon’s feet, and suddenly, full throttle,
The lid leapt off the lamp like a cork from a champagne bottle.
And in an instant clouds and clouds of billowing blue smoke
Came pouring out the lamp, enough to make a chimney choke,
And swirled and twisted in a hurry, dancing and cavorting,
Transforming into something else, mutating and contorting.
And in a show of magic that would flabbergast Houdini,
Before young Gordon’s very eyes appeared a real-life genie.

‘Great Caesar’s ghost, about time too - I couldn’t breathe I swear!
I’m far too big a chap to be couped up so long in there.
Four score and seven years or more’s too long a time to be
Confined to such a tiny space for somebody like me.
So in your own time sonny Jim, or thank you I should say.
So what do they call you?  Oh, my name’s Sammy by the way.’

‘My name’s not Jim - it’s Gordon, Sammy Jim, and what a very
Bogstandard name for you to have.  That’s pretty ordinary.’

‘My full name, if you must know, is Samallarallarammy-
-awallawitzakallavitz, so people call me Sammy.
And for your information it so happens where I’m from
My name is pretty normal, no more strange than Jack or Tom.’

‘Well whatever your name is what a mess you’ve made in here.
If dad could see this place right now he’d clip you round the ear.
But then again that’s nothing - mum can be such a meanie
She’d kick you somewhere bound to hurt a man, a boy or genie.’

‘Well now you come to mention it I’m actually quite glad
That one of us eventually brought up your mum and dad.
I’d love the opportunity to tell them they’ve brought up
A beachball of a boy, a most unpleasant tubby pup.
In fact I’d go so far to say that by the look of you
You ate your mum and dad, your grandmas and your grandpas too.’

And Gordon’s goat was gotten by this rotten little jibe.
He’d gone a redder red than any red I can describe.

‘How dare you come here unannounced and call me things like that!
My mum says I’m big-boned, and most of this is puppy fat.’

‘Your mum’s either delusional or just a big fat liar.
“Big-boned” is just how mums say “fat”, and that there’s no spare tyre.
You’re fatter than a platypus, more blubber than a whale.
I’ve seen some chunky children, but this goes beyond the pale.
You’ve such a swollen stomach and your size is so absurd
That in an eating contest you’d come second, first and third.
It mightn’t even be too much of an exaggeration
To say that what you eat per day would feed a minor nation.’

So as you can imagine this got Gordon pretty riled
(And on his best behaviour this was not a pleasant child):

‘Now listen here you silly blue insulting so-and-so,
If this is all you’ve come here for say “Cheerio” and go.
But I’ve heard children’s stories and I know how these things work:
Wherever there’s a genie there’s an interesting perk.
You’re actually my servant at this point, and I demand
That you grant me three wishes, and my wish is your command.’

‘That’s not how these things work at all, my chubby little chum
And you can shout your big mouth off from now ‘til Kingdom Come.
The only genie here is me, and therefore, ipso facto,
You’ll get as many wishes as I want to give you, fatso.
You freed me from that lamp and, yes, for that I’m in your debt,
But one is all I’ve got in me: one wish is all you get.
All that time doing nothing’s tiring if you can believe it,
So greedy Gordon’s getting just one wish.  Take it or leave it.’

Said Gordon: ‘Surely this must be a gross miscalculation.
I should be getting three at least, and that’s before inflation.’

But Sammy wasn’t listening: ‘Do I look like I’m kidding?
I haven’t spent a thousand years on earth to do your bidding.
There’s no negotiation - all that food’s gone to your head -
If you don’t want your wish I’ll take it some place else instead.’

And though this unexpected news caused Gordon’s face to frown
He had one wish to make, at least, and wouldn’t turn it down.
And knowing Gordon, well you’d say the likelihood was slender
That wishing for world peace would feature high on his agenda,
Or ending global famine - Gordon didn’t care a jot
If anybody other than himself had food or not.

He thought of all the food that he could wish for, and the winner
Was something that you wouldn’t eat for breakfast, lunch or dinner
(Although that’s not to say that Gordon’s choice was not judicious:
I daresay, on the contrary, his choice was quite delicious).

‘If I can only have one wish and one is all I’m getting
I’ll make the most of it.  I don’t see any point in letting
You get away with treating me so shabbily and so
I’m gonna say this clearly and deliberately slow:
Now listen very carefully - you genies can be tricky.
I don’t want any funny business, no taking the mickey.
Just grant my wish and follow my instructions to the letter,
And then the sooner I can see the back of you the better.

‘What I want is a donut - not just any one, mind you.
Some people like ring donuts best, but they don’t have a clue.
I want a jammy donut with more strawberry jam inside
Than any donut any jammy boy has ever tried.
A donut crammed with so much jam it actually has more
Inside than every one combined that’s ever gone before.’

‘Your wish is my command, dear boy,’ replied a smiling Sammy.
‘You asked for it: one donut coming up, and extra jammy.’

And Gordon’s eyes grew large and wide as, floating in mid-air,
He saw the perfect donut sitting there, beyond compare.
His jaws fell open, gaping wide and quickly dripping drool
That trickled to the ground below and formed a shallow pool.

Still as a statue Gordon stood, observing it with awe.
‘Go on then - take it,’ Sammy said, ‘What are you waiting for?’

And slowly Gordon reached out, his fat fingers all extended
And edging ever closer to the tasty treat suspended
In front of him, and then abruptly, in a swift attack,
He reached out with both hands and grabbed this extra-special snack.

The donut quivered in his fingers struggling to contain
All of the strawberry jam inside it, shaking with the strain,
As Gordon raised it up to within inches of his jaws
But stopped just short of biting it.  Cue a dramatic pause…

This seemed like an eternity to Sammy: ‘Come on then!
Tuck in or watch it disappear - I shall not ask again.’

And that is just what Gordon did: he bit down with aplomb
And unsurprisingly the donut blew up like a bomb.
And bits of Gordon and his house were scattered far and wide
Across the town and far around the leafy countryside.
And everything from cars to trees, from farms to houses swam
For days and weeks thereafter in delicious strawberry jam.

The moral of the story, if there is one to be found,
Is that it seldom pays to be the plumpest kid around.
At best you’ll end up with a shorter life expectancy,
At worst you’ll be the victim of some weird catastrophe.

So just remember next time when you stuff yourself with chocs
Until there’s not a single one left sitting in the box
That you should stop yourself sometimes - try not to overeat.
Or Gordon’s awful fate could be yours too.  Bon appetit.