Jeremy, a white, middle-sized potato, has spoken of his pride after being selected by Waitrose.
Despite tough competition from migrant sweet potatoes, a Jerusalem artichoke and two swedes, Jeremy made it to the prime eye-level shelf opposite a kumquat and a pre-washed bistro salad.
“My teachers always said I’d amount to nothing more than the crust on an Aldi fish pie”, revealed Jeremy.
“But I shunned my unambitious peers, I knew I could be better than them. If only they could see me now, sat here proud as a butternut squash, slowly turning green under the intense artificial lighting.”
So far Jeremy has shouldered his responsibilities well, remaining stock-still, unblemished and resolutely class A rated.
“I’m not all covered in soil, I take my personal hygiene very seriously”, revealed Jeremy. “If one wants to cut it in this store one needs to look good. A starchy jacket. One has to remain chipper.”
Jeremy is sure it’s just a matter of time before he’s noticed by someone who matters. Someone with the influence to weigh him up, make an offer the cashier can’t refuse and allow him to retire in a comfortable tagine or a holiday nicoise salad.
Sadly, a week after we interviewed Jeremy, he was laying alone in a food bank. He revealed he’d been abandoned there, after developing a tendril.
“This isn’t how I pictured my retirement, I’ve worked hard all my life and for what?” said the now slightly bitter tuber. “Dumped in some hovel to see out my twilight days? I bet I end up with someone who can’t cook, someone who chucks me in an oven and forgets me.”
“I want to go out nicely baked, not bloody cremated.”