Threesomes

As a nation we can seemingly overlook the overt guilt of the central
banking system and FIFA. (Powww...take that!).

But we British must be experts at finding inner guilt.
It is the only way of explaining the pangs I get if I don't have three
mustards on the go.

The Cosmos beat this into me recently when I open my pantry doors.
It's hard to talk about but it all came to a head with an event that
happens slightly more frequently than the passing of Hayley's Comet
but considerably less frequently than a total solar eclipse.

I was coming to the end of my English mustard and I was already on the
last dregs of my Dijon. A double whammy you might think.
But no!
It was a particularly poignant triple whammy as I'd been out of
wholegrain for over a month.

What had I become?
I've been living with the guilt for some weeks of only having two
mustards on the go. And while I barely use the tip of a knifeful every
two months, it was getting to me. I was almost down to one jar.

Who was I?
Who had I become?
What if somebody found out?
What if they checked my CV and found that I've never actually been to
school, and I was born a poor Mexican boy who went on to either find
some magic beans or steal passports depending on how charitable you're
feeling?

And where was this guilt coming from anyway? Direct from 1975?
Was I subconsciously craving the acceptance of Audrey Forbes-Hamilton?
What the bloody hell is the matter with me?

It was with some considerable relief today that I corrected the
universe by adding a Wholegrain to my shopping basket and delivered it
to what can only be described as my "collection", this being a number
of items with very little practical use.

And while I was at it I thought "hang the 59p", I'll just throw a Dijon in.
Having recently purchased an English I now had a full triumvirate.
Natural order restored. These yellowish stars won't align again until
three kings have ruled these lands.

The three jars stand in my cupboard each in their rightful place.
English. Dijon. Wholegrain.
Proud, upright monoliths.
Testaments to the passing of the ages.
Each correct in a duty fulfilled and yet each quietly sneering at even
the possibility of emptiness.

It's times like these we should all take stock.
I certainly do.

But why I honestly need to have chicken, beef and vegetable cubes in
play is beyond me.