1am. Thursday. School night. Can’t sleep. Momentarily forget I’ve never opened the Deliveroo app and not ordered.
I open the app. I want a six-pack of magnum classic ice creams (it goes to the top of the list of six-packs I want). But all the supermarkets I trust are shut. I’m tempted by “bp M&S Food” but I rule it out on suspicion of the lower case “bp”.
I glide from the supermarkets page to groceries. The first six that come up either have the ambiguous “food centre” in the name or are named a variation of “20 minutes food and wine” (the variation is purely on the time, which ranges from 10 to 25 minutes. The time each ‘grocer’ chooses is academic because none of them are delivering inside 45). Add to this that everything’s in lower case and I accept I must get creative.
I go to ‘restaurants’. I need to unleash my inner Mary Berry and work the dessert sections. It’s compromise time and I know if I’m getting anything it’s a tub and not sticks of ice cream.
The name that jumps out at me is Pizza Hut. I scan the rest of the top ten and decide to stick with my gut. It’s bad enough I find myself in this situation, I don’t need kebab shops masquerading with “Restaurant” in their name as well (the upper case “R” at least shows they have some nous).
I order two things:
- A 440ml tub of Magnum Double Salted Caramel. I’ve had it before. It’s decadent.
- Then I need to get over the small order fee and minimise the odds of a dirty look from the driver for a puny order. So I wildcard a 4 piece portion of cheesy garlic bread into my basket. I barely want it.
I think I’m done, but then I notice a banner saying “30% off selected items”. I decide to load up and order two more items: - Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough, 465ml.
- Ben & Jerry’s Spectacu-Love, 465ml. The hyphen doesn’t put me off because the surrounding branding is so strong, plus even in my sleep deprived state I’m able to see it’s an attempted pun.
I go to the checkout. The cost before applying the 30% off selected items is £27.26. The cost after applying the 30% off “selected” items is £27.26.
£27.26. What am I doing.
My usual go-to for rationalising this type of behaviour is telling myself I’m boosting consumer spending and helping the economy. But it doesn’t work, I’m only fuelling inflation at the moment.
Next I go for “Well I don’t drink or go out anymore so I’m just spending the money I save”. This doesn’t work either (not sure why, it’s usually reliable).
I go nuclear. I manage to convince myself I’ve been hacked. It’s ugly but it works. I move on.
Whilst I’m waiting for the driver, I go on the BP website to see if it is supposed to be upper or lower case. The bp website confirms the latter. I’d ruled out a semi-viable option (it’s still a petrol station…). Nevertheless, I’m happy with my due diligence. My checks and balances are designed to be time efficient, which means they’re broad strokes and not a set of Littler’s darts.
Deliveroo man turns up wearing a blinding yellow coat. Inconsiderate given I need to get to sleep soon, even if it does make him visible on a moped in the middle of the night. I also take an undeserved disliking to him because he’s successfully brought me something I’ve regretted ordering since before I’d ordered it.
I take the dessert-heavy meal into the open plan kitchen-diner (as I enter, I wonder if there is such thing as a one-bedroom flat with a divided kitchen and diner. Then I wonder what a diner is). When I ordered I was almost certain I would be eating the 440 calibre Magnum tonight. But just as I reach for it, I change my mind. I choose the speculoos one. I’m reminded of the carnival ‘game’ where there’s a bloke with three cups and a ball, and you have to guess which cup the ball is under after he’s defied the laws of physics with nothing but quick wrists and a wink. You always go for one of the two you don’t think it is.
Before eating, I put the other two ice cream tubs in the freezer. Didn’t think there was anything else in the freezer except a single bag of ice cubes (that aren’t even mine, I promise officer), but I’m greeted by a half-eaten, frozen solid, and coagulated McFlurry (the post-mortem can’t even reveal which flavour). No memory of it but I’ve clearly trodden this path before. Glad I didn’t know about the McFlurry before I ordered because I would have had a decision to make (one where there’s no outcome where I come out looking good).
Next, I open the box of cheesy garlic bread which I’d forgotten I’d ordered. One slice is glued to the lid. I rip it off and take a confident bite. It’s colder than the ice cream. I’m unfazed. It’s not what I came here for.
Still, I put the headless slice on a non-microwaveable plate. I leave the other three in the box and put them in the fridge to warm up. They’re tomorrow evening’s problem to heat sustainably. I take a chance and put the brittle legacy plate (which was legacy when my old housemate gave me it in 2017) in the microwave. My microwave doesn’t have a digital timer so I wind the dial as close to 0 minutes as I can whilst still turning it on. I know exactly what’s going to happen and it does. The garlic bread turns to water. I barely care. I shut my eyes and gobble it down. Weirdly, I get into it by the last bite.
I do a 180 and approach the ice cream tub on the breakfast bar. A spectacu-lar sight. I get a spoon out of the draw. A tablespoon. I’m here to do a job not savour a taste. I have to move a miscategorised teaspoon out of the way to get to it, but that inquest will have to wait.
I take a bite. Instant regret. The cinnamon flavouring is too strong for this time of night. I like cinnamon but normally on the big doughy pretzels that only exist in shopping centres.
But then to my surprise, I grow into the cinnamon flavour. The base vanilla flavour is sound. As are the cookie chunks. And the caramel swirls I was worried would overwhelm my nocturnal palate stay in check. I begin to increase my RPM. But just when I’m breaking into a nice canter, brain freeze reins me in.
I’m halfway into the tub when the first thought that I should stop presents itself.
I power through.
I get a craving for a cup of tea but it’s instantly ruled out because I don’t have any milk. I spend three bites trying to analyse my midnight desire for extreme temperatures, when I’m struck by another brain freeze. I vow to stop when I next can’t see any cookie chunks breaching the surface. A keen wildlife enthusiast, I can’t bring myself to put the spoon down when there’s still dolphins coming up for air.
The cookie monster does his job and I’m soon free to put the ice cream back in the freezer. I’m reminded about the McFlurry I’d already managed to forget.
2am. I get into bed. My stomach doesn’t feel good, but still better than my soul. I open the YouTube music app (I know). I’ve never opened it and not played a song. I select Mad World by Gary Jules to begin a sombre shuffle which fits my mood. I put a sleep timer on for 20 minutes. The timer I set usually varies between 10 and 25 minutes, but regardless I’m never asleep by the end of it.