Year of Eating Differently (112): Newsagent, Dean Street

Has it come to this? After 111 other places to eat, I'm reduced to buying a plastic wrapped sandwich from the newsagent on Dean Street, a place that has previously only been my succour against poor meals elsewhere, allowing me to supplement my tortured diet with a bountiful supply of Frazzles and Yorkie bars.

But yes, here we are, busy in the office without time to escape, and here's what I get: an albino cheddar sandwich that probably should have remained in its plastic coffin forever, and a Toffee Crisp. The sandwich didn't actually make me vomit, but that's the very best I can say for it.
And if that wasn't a sign of the End of Days, what can we make of shops selling toys that are clearly depictions of our mind-eating dark master?