The fast-approaching 2012 London Olympics, in the words of the wonderful Stephen Fry, are an "opportunity to showcase our world-leading arts and culture when the eyes of the world are on us". While that is all very well, one of the planned displays happens to be suspending a giant pineapple from Blackfriars Bridge on the Thames. I am not sure whether this is too subtle an example of world-leading arts and culture from a country whose considerable artistic talent has accomplished far greater things than oversized models of fruit, but then I don't look kindly upon symbolic art or any sort of waffle whose meaning isn't as plain as the nose on my face. However, where I'm going with this isn't a rant about modern art, but fruit.
A friend, Melissa, recently embarked on an all-fruit diet in her ever-optimistic quest to discover the dream diet that lets her shed the pounds without a persistent growl in her tummy. She had read in one of those self-help blogs springing up all over cyberspace that a diet composed entirely of fruit, according to some unspecified ancient texts, was the key to reconnecting with "where it all began". This was because our ancestors were hunter-gatherers who mostly ate berries plucked off bushes and things, so the gist of it was that going on a fashionable eating regime was a simple and delicious way to shape up and get in touch with your inner Neanderthal.
It was she who pointed out the pineapple installation to me in a news clipping, insisting that here was finally proof that even Olympic officials, presumably all for fitness and well-being, recognised the importance of all the edible wonders of the plant kingdom. Slightly shaky evidence for a fad diet, but then no one's ever died of eating too many apples, as far as I'm aware. It sounded a lot safer, too, than some of the other wacky (and odour-producing) cleansing regimes that teenagers are all too susceptible to trying out, such as living entirely off biltong for weeks.
In the process of hunting for more exciting variations to your ordinary bananas and oranges, Melissa combed the aisles of the supermarket for everything she'd heard has beautifying properties. "Are you sure you'll be able to eat three kilos of pomegranates all by yourself?" I asked doubtfully, helping her unload a good proportion of Carrefour's stock into the trolley. "They've got loads of antioxidants, I've got to stop the ageing process, look at this!" She pointed forcefully at her face, accidentally jabbing her eye rather harder than she meant to. It transpired that she was referring to "wrinkles to come"; she's barely 17.
Just in time for lunch, Melissa stopped, lost in thought. "I'm hungry, what should we start with first?" I shrugged, contemplating some Packham pears, Chiquita bananas and Spanish mandarins. "Let's play it safe," she announced. "I'm a bit tired of McDonald's, Shake Shack's just over there!" So much for the fruit diet? But then, as Melissa replied, ketchup has tomatoes.
