This post was originally published on MUNCHIES UK.

Tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour yourself a cup of ambition, then yawn and stretch and try to come alive. Then jump on your phone while the Wi-Fi’s pumping, dole out likes like your heartbeat’s jumping, for folks like us living ‘gram from nine to five.

Here are some of the nicest and most digestive photos uploaded to Instagram for your delectation this week.

I once knew a man who, quite genuinely, told me that he would never eat a fig in public because, and I quote, “I’m not sure if I’m doing it properly.” That man, it is my duty to inform you, was not a lesbian.

This is like saying that you can’t tell the difference between Blackpool and Paris. Between a tabby cat and a tiger. Between Mick Hucknall and a shower exfoliator. You might as well tell me you thought Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger were in an actual documentary about being identical twins.

“Mummy, what was the 21st Century like?”

“Well darling, we all breathed air, had sex using our bodies, and ate all our meals out of jars for absolutely no explicable reason.”

“Sounds shit.”

“It had its ups and downs.”

Of course, everyone wants a pudding that looks like one of the £3 fairground rides that rests on a pile of bricks in the middle of the local council park the first weekend of October. I mean we all do. Right?

This is pretty much exactly what my grandmother warned her son would happen to his genitals if he “bothered” with himself to enthusiastically at bedtime.

I’m about as likely to eat a mussel with a fork as I am to take a newborn baby into my arms using a giant pair of kitchen tongs. However, if you’re going to do it, you might as well use a fork that makes you look like a giant hairy Neptune in sports shorts, I suppose.

The man from Del Monte’s looking good for his age isn’t he? And so nice to see a man willing to invest in a good manicure from time to time.

Do you remember the “fat” one from Grease? You know, the woman who was, somehow, supposed to be “fat”? Who made all those jokes about eating Twinkies? And looking like a chubby little mouse? But who quite clearly had the lithe and supple body of a professional dancer? So they just dressed her in a big sweatshirt and hoped nobody would notice? Well, when I marry that woman, this is what we’re going to have at the wedding buffet.

Funnily enough, “Pão de queijo” is exactly what it sounds like when I ask my flatmate to pass me the keys, as I’m pushing a bread roll into my mouth, need a wee and in something of a hurry to get through the door after a night bus home.

That, Gordon, is a giant crispy pork ladder to the afterlife.

In this sloshflunking Giant Country, happy eats like pineapples and pigwinkles is simply not growing. Nothing is growing except for one extreemly icky-poo vegetable called the snozzcumber. Oh well. Happy Birthday Dahl, grandad to us all.