'NO! NO MORE CURRIES! I HAVE CANCELLED THEM ALL!'

By the end of the following day, I have cancelled all future prawns. The Northern Line is dead to me. I've boycotted Netto and Superdrug. And never again will I eat a McNugget.

I have risen up! I have made my stand! But I catch sight of myself in the window of a passing bus. I look ... sad.

When I get home, I order a curry. It's twenty minutes late.

I tip, and I tip heavily.

THE DOODLE

I'm back in LA for work, and find myself in a restaurant halfway down a canyon. Around me are the great and the good of the city. It's a beautiful place, with an outdoor patio draped in velvet, but instead of tablecloths there's brown paper, and in the middle of the table a small glass full of crayons.

It's a little odd, but I decide to say nothing. I would hate to expose myself as the only person in the world not aware of this new brown-paper-tablecloth and free-glass-of-crayons eating experience.

The people I'm with are important, and wearing suits.

'This place,' says the first important person. 'It has the best dessert. To die for. Only reason I come here ...'

She laughs, lightly, and I join in, and then we talk about the economy, and the best place to buy pizza, and about driving cars off little ledges. But eventually, I can take it no more.

'So these crayons,' I say. 'What are they for?'

'Oh, they're in case you're feeling arty,' says the second important person. 'You might need to express yourself. This is a restaurant that encourages freedom of expression ... '

He takes a crayon - a yellow one - and starts to doodle. He draws a little house, and we all agree on how brilliant it is.

Soon, all three of us have crayons, and we start to doodle while we wait for our food. It is a bit like being in a creche, except in a canyon, and where the other toddlers wear suits. A 1920s creche, maybe, although that doesn't really explain the canyon.

'So, you missing home?' says the first important person, as I continue my doodle of interesting swirls and vital shapes. 'You're having a kid soon, right?'

'Yes,' I say, proudly, and suddenly I am a little homesick, halfway down this canyon. My doodling becomes more maudlin, and I switch to dark blue.

'Your life's about to change, buddy,' says the second important person, and I immediately think about what a shame it is more people don't say 'buddy'. 'Time to grow up. You won't know what's hit you ...'

I continue absentmindedly doodling, my thoughts elsewhere, back home, and the man continues.

'Soon as that little guy pops out, your world is about responsibility ...'