On Ham

On Ham

The other week, I was preparing lunch in our communal kitchen (twinned with Manila Municipal Tip) when I had a bit of an accident with somebody's pork products.

As I reached into the packed fridge for my tub of 'I Can't Believe It's Not Buttocks' – clearly marked with the words 'Beware of the Leopard' to deter gangs of food thieves – I dislodged a number of precariously-balanced items, which toppled to the floor with a splat.

The antique yoghurts were fine, as was the plastic container full of salad that was busily evolving into a higher life form. But it was what I found at the bottom of the pile, tumbling out of its shoddy packaging, that has led to my trouser-dampening quandary.

And the question I ask is this:

Was I right to apply the Five-Second Rule to the three slices of ham that left a damp, greasy ring on the floor of the kitchen?

Degree of Difficulty: I have watched my colleagues in the days since the incident. None have died complaining of an ill-advised lunch of hairy ham sandwiches.

Tomato Ketchup sandwiches - The Food of Gods.