The Dark Side of Fruit and Vegetables

 Simon Tierney shares a near death experience...

Two months ago I went on a health drive. I had never done this before. I was about to be 29 and I had become used to feeling “grand”: the Irishman’s answer to any inquiry about his health. An Irishman could be stretched out on a road, having been run over by a large bus and would still tell the panicking paramedics that he is “grand”. It turned out “grand” wasn’t sufficient for me anymore. I wanted to feel fantastic again.

I was aware of the incessant promulgating of the famous “5 fruit and veg”malarkey. I set about making a plan to eat five portions of fruit and veg per week. I bought two bananas, a bag of salad and two kiwis. While espousing my lofty ambitions on the subject, my friend informed me that the requirement was five fruit and veg per day. This thwarted my plans completely. How could one possibly achieve such a goal? Surely that much can’t be good for you? Would I not experience abdominal failure? Would I change colour? Where would I find time to do other things or would my days be consumed with the constant processing of vegetation?

I returned to the shop and bought twelve more bananas, eight more kiwis, three more bags of salad and several punnets of blackcurrants. My kitchen now resembled the Garden of Eden. Stepping through the door was like entering the rainforest. Monkeys started to develop a habitat in my banana grove. I could hear birds chirping as they grazed on my blackcurrants. The transformation of my kitchen from a haven of batter and frozen food treats to vegetal paradise was unnerving at first but I soon got used to it. The fruit affected me. Slowly it began to change me. I became a sort of mother-earth figure, welcoming guests to my flat by first asking them to remove their shoes and then offering them a banana smoothie served in a large conical-shaped leaf. I began to speak more slowly and played Enya on my stereo. After several weeks I abandoned electricity and used only dim candle light. I wore only a loin cloth. I stopped showering. Instead, I squeezed oranges over my body to purify the soul rather than preoccupy my mind with trivialities like cleanliness. I changed my name to Brother.

 After several weeks of my new life I began to notice some worrying physical developments. I was examining my reflection in a puddle of water, when I noticed my skin had developed a very fine layer of fur, just like a peach. My hair had developed sharp spikes, just like a bramble bush. My fingers were beginning to flake. I picked at my index finger and realised that I could peel a layer from it. Underneath the surface was a sticky substance. I licked it. It tasted sweet. I bit into it and chewed the honeyed fabric of my hand. It tasted delicious and I could not stop eating myself. Suddenly both my hands had been consumed and I had started on my left leg, which tasted like passion fruit: moist and juicy. Then I passed out.  

I woke up in a hospital several days later with a drip attached to my body and bandages around my amputated limbs. The doctor told me that I had a severe case of FADS. This is a condition that I had never heard about before. Five a Day Syndrome affects one in a thousand people and involves the extremely dangerous obsessional behaviour associated with the consumption of fruit and vegetables. The doctor informed me that I was a very lucky man because a few days more without treatment and I would indeed have become a fully formed piece of fruit. As it is, I will now live the rest of my life with a right foot which contains not bones, blood and human flesh but rather seeds, omega 3 fatty acids and calcium oxalate. I bruise easily.  

I intend to make it my life’s work to raise awareness of FADS. I am the man responsible for National FADS Day (July 21st), when we will be handing out oranges, stuffed with human flesh as a sort of controversial campaign to edify the public about the dangers of fruit. I am also hoping to conteract Jamie Oliver’s Schools Campaign by running workshops with 5-11 year olds where we will attempt to teach them about the dangers of fruit and vegetable consumption and how they can be replaced with alternatives such as chocolate and burgers.

If you are interested in FADS, please watch my documentary on RTE (July 12th, 8pm). In this programme, I visit the Central FADS Clinic in Dun Laoghaire where I meet a number of human vegetables, including a pear, an avocado (people who eat avacadoes are very prone to FADS) and a lemon who is particularly bitter about his experiences. Of particular interest is the special case of a woman who turned into a melon and then exploded when she was put next to a radiator. She is putting her life back together piece by piece.

If you are a vegetable or any of your family are vegetables, follow us on Twitter...@humanvegetable

FADS – The Delicious Killer, RTE, June 12th, 8pm

National FADS Day – June 21st 2012

Lost in Ikea - the last great challenge for mankind

                                   Ikea: the last landmass to be conquered by mankind

Last week my friend Kate and I got lost in Ikea. We had managed to traverse the highlands of bedroom interiors and had even scaled the heights of the kitchen units section with great success. Suddenly we found ourselves in deluxe bathrooms and panic struck. We had meandered off the designated trail and found ourselves in an unfamiliar world of bidets and Swedish shower heads. With the help of the GPS on my phone, we eventually made our way back to the designated trail, clothes torn, hungry and bodies trembling. They say that Antarctica was the last great land mass to be conquered by man. Last year we celebrated the achievements of Roald Amundsen and Captain Scott. These were indeed great men but what about the first man to conquer Ikea? Why do we not celebrate this arguably more impressive feat? Why do people not say they are walking the “Ikea Trail” for charity? I would happily give money to someone who set themselves such a grave challenge. For too long these brave Ikea adventurers have been overlooked. Having seen the scale of the challenge, I will now make it my life’s task to raise awareness of the perils of Ikea and to highlight the magnificent achievements of those who have conquered her successfully.

Ikea, the world’s largest furniture retailer, has one store in Ireland. Its lack of ubiquity is compensated for by the sheer size of the Ballymun premises. To call it a shop is like calling Australia an island. Sure, Australia is an island but the term doesn’t really express the enormity of the experience. Equally, I’d rather call Ikea a “destination” or a “resort” rather than a shop. I have never heard anybody say they are going to “pop into” Ikea, because that is impossible. The resort is designed in a way which does not allow for “popping into”. Rather, the customer must set aside vast tracts of time in order to navigate around the carefully laid out maze which one has no choice but to tackle, just in order to find the exit. This maze is known to Ikea staff as the “Long and Natural Path”. This somewhat celestial name suggests white light and the promise of eternal life but alas, that was not the case in my terrifying experience. The maze takes you through every conceivable aspect of the home, with the intention of luring you into buying as much as possible. Kate and I had heard about this maze before we arrived and had strong intentions of not allowing ourselves to be sucked into the beautiful displays and show rooms. No! We would be steadfast in our pursuit of three items: a bed, a sieve and a couch for my new flat. This was the list and nothing would steer us off our course. Oh dear.

522 million people visited an Ikea store in 2011. With this number of customers, the company clearly has its business model very well oiled. One can tell this immediately on entering its unforgivably yellow gates. As we approached the entrance to the maze on the first floor, I began to sweat. I could see the crowds. I felt like I was entering Jurassic Park: excited but nervous that I might die. We followed the trail of the maze, being careful to keep with the crowds. We knew if we strayed off that we may never get back on the trail again. Once we arrived at the Greater Couches Area, we had begun to loosen up. This isn’t so bad. We can do this. Our confidence had built. We tried some couches for comfort and we even took a note of the reference number of the one I wanted. Easy. By the time we got to the Kitchenware Province we were like old hands, regularly separating from each other and going off-piste into the Swedish wilderness. Our initial intention of sticking to our concise three-point shopping list had been overruled as we began to snatch at items which seemed to be such a bargain that it would be “a shame” not to use the trip to pick them up.  A Skoghall laundry basket for €5.07, yes! A Vaggis notice board for €3.95, have to have it! Soon we were throwing things in the trolley whose actual function was unknown, but they just looked so shiny. And, sure, it’s a bargain, forgetting that all these little bargains add up to a bill so large that a puffin would be proud to call one its own. At one point I saw Kate scrambling in a bargain basket for the last two-pack of toilet brushes. “Kate, you don’t need toilet brushes”. “I have to have them, they’re so cheap. The opportunity is too magnificent”, she cried. I tackled her to the floor, and began tearing her grip from the beautiful red toilet brush. “Kate, you have to let it go! I know it’s hard but we must be strong!” Her talons loosened and I lifted her shaking body away from the Toilet Accessories Region. I carried her in my arms. She mumbled something inaudible. “Yes, we are lost, but we will find our way out. Trust me”, I said as I carried her through the undergrowth of endless shower curtains and bathroom storage units. She was a broken woman. Ikea had defeated her but I had to be strong. One of us had to be strong. Otherwise all would be lost. I didn’t want to have to camp and sunset was fast approaching as we saw the millions of show lights slowly being extinguished on the horizon.

Happily my GPS came to our rescue and after foraging for leftovers in a bin, we eventually stumbled across an Ikea Park Ranger who happened to be doing one last sweep of the territory before locking the gates. A foil towel was wrapped around Kate. We had survived. Sure, we had been through something I never want my children to experience but we had survived. And we even had the couch, sieve and bed we came in for. 

© Simon Tierney 2012