I got 70% in that TMA, so that's a good result in my book but of course I'm now working on the next one. This one is about identity and how it is formed and I'm to code some audio interviews and write a report comparing the two self-descriptions. One is by an 8yr old and the other 16 yr old.
The 8 year old is very cute to listen to and says things to amuse her interviewer. She sounds typical of her age in how she describes herself. The16yr old is trying to be intellectual and impress the interviewer with how mature she is but that's not what my report can be about (shame, I find that more interesting)
But enough of my OU work. I'm here to talk about digestion.
Landlord eats tons of food. I mean when he recounts to me what his lunch looked like it's like he's feeding the five thousand and when they come around with the baskets to pick up the crumbs, he's still eating. His day's lunch equals mine for the week.
We went cycling at the weekend (it rained, I froze and now have a cold to show for it) and I really tried to keep up with his eating but dammit how can his body take in so much food and still find space for his vital organs and stuff. As far as I can tell he still has them all including both kidneys and an appendix.
Well after some scientific research and interview questionnaires and some observations on my part, I think I know how he does it: He not only has the metabolism of cheetah which stops him turning into the human hindenburg from the calories he consumes, he also does not hang onto his food for very long. What I'm saying is, Landlord, not to put too fine a point on it, has a pretty impressive eat to poo ratio (I bet he's SO glad I keep a blog for this stuff)
I reckon when I eat, the food goes into the murky depths of my stomach, sloshes around a bit like a lazy wash cycle and then makes it way to the bowel department at the speed of a shuffling OAP in the tinned foods aisle at Asda. It then lounges around for a little bit longer as each last shred of nutrient left in the food is removed, processed, reprocessed, processed some more until nothing, literally nothing but useless waste and maybe a marbel I swallowed when I was four, is left.
Landlord's food doesn't even touch the sides. His digestive tract is like a big dipper. It's speed is determined by momentum and gravity. Before it's started it's finished and is ready to look for the exit. I predict Landlord has poo so untouched by digestion that it's had almost nothing taken from it (certainly no calories). In fact, it is probably so nutritious still, Gillian McKeith would consider stirring it into her Miso soup. (I do hope you're not eating your lunch while reading this).
This is why Landlord always remembers every curry I cook. He loves tucking into a hot (or hottish) curry and savours every burning mouthful, but when he goes to loo (amazingly soon) afterwards, it's still curry and every bit as hot as his mouth remembers it had been. I on the hand won't become reaquainted with it until my stomach has pretty much split the atom and broken the curry down into quarks and leptons before releasing anything into the wild again. It makes me a super efficient food processing unit and I never suffer ill-effects from foods I eat. I may even have extra stomachs like a cow does. I certainly feel I have a dessert stomach on standby even when the main course has filled me up. This means I don't need to eat a lot to feel full or to keep me going for ages.
anyway, to test this theory to its fullest, we're cooking a hot vindaloo for dinner - a curry with the works: pickle, chutney, poppadums, chappatis, naan and my special lip-dissolver of a vindaloo recipe. I'm keeping a loo roll in the freezer for him, just in case.
