“A pinch and a punch for the first day of the month.” You’ve all heard this phrase possibly at least once in your lives. I heard this for the first time in the playground during my junior-school years. It would be cool if this phrase was derived from something deeply rooted in tradition. Maybe it is, but I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that the phrase was probably invented by some spoilt school bully who needed to conceive an excuse so that he could get away with not being tagged a bully at least once a month. I’m not sure if this “tradition” is still practised today, but it was a fun day through the eyes of a mischievous seven year old. Even the teachers got in on it (no, really). A kid in my class complained to the teacher, “Craig pinched me and then punched my arm and now it hurts and I can’t write properly.” Her reply: “Just carry on with your work. It is the first day of the month today after all isn’t it?” Behind-the-scenes school traditions exposed. Officers, I hope you catch them.

Another funny side-note from my childhood was when I was about, I dunno, five years old. I was in the playground with a friend of mine and he was telling me how he felt really strong after eating these Power Sweets (which were actually just ordinary Smarties - but even as a kid I wasn’t one to shatter illusions). He told me to punch his arm as hard as I could. I didn’t know what a “punch” was, but I knew what a “pinch” was. Since the two words sound somewhat similar and since I didn’t know a “punch” existed, I pinched him in the arm as hard as I could. He yelled in pain, asking me what I was doing. I shrugged my shoulders. “No, punch me as hard as you can,” he demanded with an ounce of rub-a-dub-dub authority. I pinched him again, as hard as I could. He looked at me puzzled, I looked at him puzzled. “No. Punch me as hard as you can.” I was slightly bewildered as to the effect of the Power Sweets he had consumed. My best pinch obviously wasn’t good enough for him. In retrospect, this situation is a darn cool example of comedic misunderstanding. Next time someone asks you to do something for them, instead try doing something that rhymes with what they said. Keep doing it until you confuse them completely and to the point where they forget what they asked you to do in the first place. It rocks. I digress. Anyhoo… I compressed this bewilderness into my writing hand, fingers like car-crusher-pistons, and gave him the pinch of his life. “Owwwww,” he yelled, “No, don’t pinch me. Punch me. Like this…” And with that, he punched me. The proverbial penny landed in the pit of grey mass up there and that was the first time I found out what a punch meant. Enlightened, I gave him my hardest punch. Good thing the teacher on playground duty didn’t see. I helped power-mullet boy up onto his feet and gave him a “no hard feelings” pat on the back. Disappointed with his experiment, he offered me the rest of his Power Sweets. I declined politely, opting instead for a carton of my Power Juice.

Woah. Now that I have a spare moment to think about it and let it sink in… what a long week this has been for me! It doesn’t help when you’re sleeping a maximum of 5 hours a night every weekday either. The problem is that I’m usually buzzing around busily like a caffeinated, turbo-injected bee until the early hours of the morning, which will be about the time I actually start feeling the need to catch some Z’s. The worst part of this is having to get up in the mornings to go to University and missing the important meal of the day. Yes, I’m talking about breakfast (sorry to all you brunch fans). Before you New Yorkers can pick up your morning newspapers, straighten your ties and say “Bagel and cawfee,” let me interrupt you and say “Breakfast bar.” You know what I mean… those little bars made from oats and grain that apparently purge your morning hunger when you haven’t got time to have a proper brekkie (as the adverts say - bwah). Much emphasis needs to be made on the word “little” because those breakfast bars are tiny. I’m not sure how big they are outside of England, but here they’re gone in like 4 mouthfuls. I’d need no less than 3 bars of the stuff to keep my pet stomach content (he grumbles a lot when he’s peeved). What kinda bar is this? Did I mention how sweet these things are either? I said I’d need at least 3 bars to fill me up, but that’s if I had the ability to eat more than one and a half of those sweet buggers. They’re ludicrously sweet for a snackie bar that claims to be free of artificial flavourings and colourings. At times it’s as though you were taking a bite out of dry porridge and then downing a shotglass full of saturated fruit brine. Who gave the go ahead for these bars? “Come on Enriqu� Del Monte, let’s introduce theeese bars to the world. Kids’ll love themmmm. People don’t neeeed teeth. Teeth are overrated. Let’s rid the world of teeeeeeth.”

Breakfast bars… come in strawberry, raspberry, apple flavours, to name a few. Fruit for breakfast is all healthy and good. I like fruit, it tastes good, but variety is the spice of life, meaning that man cannot live on fruit alone. My idea of a good breakfast bar would include the ingredients: white toasted bread, crispy bacon, barbecued Cumberland sausage, scrambled egg (free-range), salt, pepper, and some barbecue sauce. Now that’s a breakfast, oh yeah. Breakfast of champions. Unfortunately, until handy-brekkie bars of this variety are available in the shops, I shall continue leaving the house to go to University in the mornings, in a hurry, having only digested 3 biscuits and a layer or two of my stomach lining. Sorry, if that last bit grossed you out. I really should have attached a warning beforehand. Okay, by means of compensation, how’s about this… I’ll let you punch my arm as hard as you can…

What the heck are you doing? I said punch me as hard as you can. Stop it, that tickles. Heeheehee…