Fuckoffee pie

A box of bananas for a pound is not to be sniffed at, even if you do know that there is no chance you will get through them before they dissolve in less than 24 hours' time. So I picked one up a few days ago from a random fruit&veg shop and, having stopped at a few houses on the street to offload a bunch or two, started to work out what I might do with the bent yellow bastards.

I don’t know what drives this kind of logic. I once found myself with a catering-sized bag of carrots and cauliflower and so decided to make chutney. At least three shopping trips later to pick up essential extras such as Kilner jars and vinegar and a few fruits and spices I didn’t quite have enough of, I end up with a stinking pan of the stuff which I piled into the [sterilized at great temporal cost] jars, stored for a few months, and then scraped out into the bin so that I could fill the back of my very small pantry with glass jars that I may never use again a few months later.

But there is nothing you can dream up that involves a BOX of bananas, nothing at all. Instead, you have two options to choose from: banana bread and banoffee pie. Neither of these requires more than two bananas, but you don’t want to worry about that. The rest saves you two days of cooking meals that your children never eat, although the fruit seems to bung them up a bit. Anyway, I had never made a banoffee pie before and I thought this the only time in my life that I probably would. It was a minor disaster. It's not a pleasant thing to eat at the nest of times, but I had got the ratios of cream to toffee wrong and the base was too biscuity. A killer of the heart and arteries, it is also a danger food to those who cannot resist fat and sugar. So I slapped a warning sign on it, popped a couple of banas in my pocket for lunch, and headed to the Office.