Sick like me...

I have spent the last 53 years thinking that I wouldn't like sushi.  I'm not too sure what made me make this decision, possibly the fact that the rice is overcooked and stodgy, the fish is raw, and it just looks weird.  Perhaps that's why.

Anyway, while we were away in Ibiza a few weeks ago, I tried it for the first time, and decided that it was actually passable fare for a light lunch.  Yes, the rice was stodgy and the fish was raw, but slap it round a cooked prawn and a bit of cream cheese and it seemed to work.

So as you know, last weekend son number two took himself off to university without me in tow, and the husband was away somewhere in Wales hurtling down a mountain on two wheels, which left yours truly on her own on Saturday night.  I'd been for my normal Saturday breakfast with the family, and walking back to my car via the supermarket, I chanced upon their 'sale' section.  There was a small pack of sushi there, and I thought to myself how decadent it would be to have that for my dinner on Saturday evening with perhaps a small glass of wine.  So in the basket it went.

Later on, I opened up the packet, and laid it out on a plate, remembering to throw away that dangerous looking green stuff that always seems to accompany it, and sitting in front of the television, I ate the lot.  Now I have to confess, it didn't taste anywhere as good as the Ibiza offering, but I put that down to the fact that there was no accompanying sunshine.  

Fast forward eight hours, and I'm doing a passable impression of Vesuvius...in both hemispheres of my poor broken body.

I'm not going to bore you with the stories of muscle pain, coma-like sleep, dramatic weight loss, frequent visits to the bathroom etc, but on Monday morning, having dragged myself to the lounge for a change of scenery, a small thought came to mind.  

Staggering out to the kitchen, ricocheting off the walls like a ball bearing in a pinball machine, I opened the kitchen bin, and rifled through the recycling for the empty sushi container.  Finding it, and trying to look at it without actually looking at it, if you know what I mean, I checked the 'eat by' date.

Ah, ok.  It all made sense.  Two days out of date...

So there are lessons to be learned from this.  Firstly, start wearing my bloody glasses when I go shopping so that I can see the small print.  Secondly, when the supermarket assistant asks you whether you need the receipt, as they hold it in the air, ready to crumple up and throw in the bin, say, 'Yes please' instead of 'No thank you'.

Mind you, if I had kept the receipt and written to the supermarket, they might just have sent me a year's supply of sushi as way pf apology.

Even this morning, 72 hours after eating it, that does not sit well with me, and guess what?

I'll never eat it again....not even in Ibiza...