Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.

She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch.
I do have other options, but occasionally I like an egg sandwich.Other lunch options ARE available.
How dare youAll this food talk is making me ANXIOUS and TRIGGERED and I will be alerting HR
How dare you
Rachet doesn't have HR
Check your privilege
I just had a Jacket potato and spaghetti hoops at the shop for my dinner. They smell pleasant![]()
These were cheap sains ones, far nicer than Heinz.Oooh double carb.
I DO love a spaghetti hoop though. Though not Heinz, they're shit.
Madonna can’t afford real pearls and Rachel can’t afford HRHow dare you
Rachet doesn't have HR
Check your privilege

I had a jacket potato with cheese AND beans
Fuck off, peasants
Getting the local supermarket versions of canned foods is SO WOKE
These were cheap sains ones, far nicer than Heinz.
I much prefer a hoop to a baked bean.
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.
Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.
And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.
Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.
Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.
And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.
Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.
Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.
And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.
Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
I much prefer a hoop to a baked bean.
Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.
Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.
And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.
Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
Oh @Rachey, between egg and onion and mackerel you're going to have them sprinting to that other shop.Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch. Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.
She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
u ok hun?Imagine the world not as a place, but as a continuous, shifting symphony of relations and interactions—where each action is both its own and every other. It is a place where everything and nothing has intrinsic meaning, and objects exist in the spaces between the concepts we use to define them. The world, then, is not composed of solid "things" but of vibrations, layers of information playing off each other, each one echoing a million voices from past, present, and future, tangled and intertwined in ways impossible to unravel.
Consider that time itself might not be linear but rather a tangled, crisscrossed tapestry, one that sometimes loops back on itself, sometimes stretches far out, and sometimes becomes thin to the point of breaking. Events we think of as past may merely be shadows cast by future ones, and perhaps causality is not a straight line, but a deep well, rippling outward in all directions. In this perspective, memories are not just remnants of what was but are active forces, reassembling the present and co-authoring the future.
And the mind, too, is not a closed thing, confined within one person. Rather, it extends and spreads, connected through shared symbols, ideas, and emotions with others. Perhaps, at a level we rarely grasp, there is no such thing as "my mind" or "your mind," but instead a vast network of perception that pulses through all conscious beings—a field of thought whose boundaries we impose artificially, for convenience, to maintain the comfortable illusion of individual selfhood.
Seen this way, the world becomes more like a thought, or a dream—an ephemeral but tenacious form held together by the energy of countless interconnected consciousnesses. And if it is a dream, then perhaps all that is solid only seems that way because we’ve convinced ourselves it must be, mistaking the depth and texture of this dream for something unchangeable. Maybe, then, the true nature of the world is simply change—a flux that we can touch only when we surrender the need to define.
Because an egg mayo sandwich is such an easy and filling lunch. Plus it's only Mandy that can smell it, customers never can.
She eats tinned mackerel in the shop so she doesn't really have a leg to stand on.
Onions give me terrible wind. I love a pickled onion but I can only have them if I know I'm not going out for the next 12-24 hours because good grief, it is absolute warfare.@Roe 🌳 Egg and ONION?! I love eggs and I love onions but I don't believe they'd make a nice sandwich together and I never want to find out![]()
No one likes a BRAGGERI've been SPIKED WITH LSD