I am currently faced with a question, a conundrum if you will: “can a man survive on beer and beans alone?”

While I suspect I have manouvered my way to the end of this philosophical minefield I can’t help feeling an aching regret that it has come to the point where I must consider questions such as this. It’s not that my tastes have devolved to a point where they find this diet pleasing, neither is it that to improve my diet would take me beyond my means. What, therefore, is the reason for this outragous disregard for my health and digestive tract?

Like a dog with it’s nose pressed to the back of my knee the unpleasent realisation is slowly coming to my attention that I am already taking up the habits of my newfound peers. This is a worrying turn of events; if it continues I will surely end up sustaining myself on brackish pond water and the mildew from my bathroom tiles.

So what of the original question? The conclusion I have reached is thus:

You possibly can live on lager and beans alone, but when your room is no bigger that the average shoebox you will soon wish that you didn’t.