| Every year, just
before Christmas, I fast for
at least 24 hours. There is no one reason for this. I do it to prove
that I can. I do it because I then feel better able to cope with the
gluttony of Christmas. I do it because it has now become a tradition
with me. I do it because I think one should fast now and then. But I
also do it for the sheer pleasure of breaking the fast. This is the year of 2002. I began my fast at about 12.30 am on Sunday morning – the 22nd. I had been to the Wheatsheaf Pub with my son to watch a band called Smilex. The band’s lead singer is a nutcase who climbs onto any available surface during his performance and throws things at the audience – chocolate minirolls in celebration of Christmas in this case. I ate a miniroll, had four or five pints of beer, watched an old Elvis performance on TV, then ate a few potato crisps with cheese. And then to bed. I ended my fast at 10.30 a.m. on Monday morning, thirty-four hours later. In the interim I drank tap water only. Probably about a litre at the most. As usual, the early stages were the toughest. I had the beginnings of a cold which exacerbated the waves of faintness which usually occur in the afternoon. As the day wears on I tend to become more introspective, and look forward to the night and sleep. But sleep does not come that easily when your stomach is empty. I salivate a lot, which is not good and when sleep finally arrives it is a little disturbed – and the dreams therefore more memorable. This time I dreamed that I was going to a casino with friends. I spent a lot of time arguing about the price of entry, though my friends had already entered. Finally reaching an agreement, I entered and, for some dream-like reason I was suddenly transported to a beach with a cliff face directly in front of me. It was my job to drill a large number of holes in order to mount some object on the face of the cliff, I think the object was an odd Christmas gift that I had purchased for our Christmas bran-tub. I was still aware that I had to go to the gambling halls at some stage and this brought some pressure to the task. I also became aware of movement behind me. I turned and saw that some large slug like creatures which I had already noticed, but thought incapable of motion, were making their way across the beach. I was frightened of them, even though they were not approaching me. The dream blurred after that. There was no ending. I awoke fairly early and spent an hour or two somewhere in between sleep and waking. I got up at 9.30 a.m. dressed in old but warm clothing and took the dog for a run. It was foggy and wet, the fields were slippery, but the run was good. I returned at sometime after ten, felt ill and therefore decided to shower before eating. The shower had its magical effect, I felt ready to break my fast and begin the ritual of carefully preparing my breakfast. The food is identical to the food I have almost everyday – but normally I am barely aware of it. My breakfast consists of a glass of orange juice, preferably not too cold; a bowl of cereal with piping hot milk; a banana, preferably in perfect condition; and a cup of fennel tea – with a sweetener tablet. I prepare them reverently and slowly. I need to be alone as I do this. I lay them out carefully on the dining room table. The cereal directly in front of me, the banana to the left, the orange juice straight ahead – just beyond the cereal, the fennel tea steaming away to the right. Then I wait for a while to increase my anticipation, improve my concentration and to relax myself – also I wait to prove to myself that I can wait. I then take the first sip of orange. Glorious. It cuts like a scythe through the metallic mustiness that has built up in my mouth. It is the essence of orangeness. It splits into water, into sugar and back to that central smooth orange liquor. I take another sip and that is just as good, then another, the glory begins to fade, but it is still good to feel that cool wholesome liquid pass over my tongue and down the throat into the knotted stomach. It is so substantial after the thinness of water. Then the cereal, currently I eat a pecan and maple mixture. The contrast is wonderful, it is hot where the juice is cold, it is sweet where the juice has that refreshing tanginess. My teeth are aware of crunching each individual nut. My tongue savours the sweetness of the maple syrup and the warmth of the milk. My mouth is filled with the consistency of the cereal and the activity of munching. Spoonful after spoonful, it tastes so good that I want it to last forever, but then it is gone. Then the banana, I peel it slowly, almost erotically. I softly nibble off the tip. Soft, creamy, tasty – is there any little package which is more filled with goodness than a banana? Someone once told me that they could no longer bear to eat them, because they had once been placed on a banana diet in order to reduce weight - how sad. That morning’s banana is as near perfect as can be. The skin is blotched with dark patterns, but the fruit is unblemished from tip to toe, and all too soon it has gone. Then the hot fennel tea, sweet hot fennel tea, tasting so much sweeter then usual, and yet it contains the same single sweetener tablet. Fennel is a nice taste, a subtle taste, it tastes like its name It is the essence of Ouzo from Greece without the alcohol. Anis from Spain without the A. And then it’s all over. Back to normal for another year. Christmas is just around the corner, mince pies, turkey, beer, wine, sprouts, cheese, port, brandy, cake, pudding. But none of it, not one bit of it, will be quite as pleasurable as that first glass of orange juice |
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