A Regretable Admission

To whom it may concern,

I, Mark Smith have failed. As predicted, it was the bacon sandwich that got me in the end. While I do not wish to deny my failings nor absolve them with a string of excuses, I feel the need to explain my carnivorous antics and place the crime in context. Though it probably won't save me from a damn good smiting from Him.

I blame my parents. My mum informed me that I was getting "dangerously thin in the face" and that I should stop this "stupid game". The trip home was a mistake. I had already 'come out' as a temporary vegetarian (much to their amusement). When I arrived home, they were eating steak. I had a cheese pizza.

After a few beers, the pork pies in the fridge nearly tempted me, but like Jesus in the desert, I left the pies alone and had another beer. In the morning they had a full English breakfast, but I was welcome to have the tomatoes and mushrooms. I could swear they had planned this. It wasn't just a fry-up; it was a set-up.

"These are award winning sausages you know" - that's what finally got me. (They actually weren't very nice).

I thought the guilt would make everything taste bitter, like the bitter curd of failure. But no. The deliciousness of meat was worth it. The steak I had later was even nicer.

To those of you maintaining your lent sacrifices I give you my best wishes and my most sincere apologies. But I hear there's not many of you left: chocolate birthday cake, the irresistable ballads of Take That, the dual revelations that Creme Eggs contain chocolate and pizzas count as takeways and disgraceful 'Beardism' in the workplace have scuppered many a gallant attempt at self-sacrifice.

Good luck,

Time for the pies,

Mark