It's payday for me this week. Hallelujah! I’ve just had a quick look at the old online banking and I swear it laughs at me every time I log in.

I really do need to re-stock my cupboards.

It’s not just about the money, though. I need to be much more organised and go grocery shopping BEFORE I’ve run out of everything, rather than leaving it until last minute and wondering why I can’t find anything tasty to tuck into.

I’m too easily distracted by a good gossip with pals, spending time with my pets or watching Judge Rinder on TV – so I end up going shopping really late at night when most of the stores have closed and those that are still open seem to have very little left.

So you see, I’ve only got myself to blame.

Today, I’ve been doing that thing where I keep opening the fridge and cupboards looking for tasty treats that aren’t there. Clearly I’m under the impression that if I keep looking in them systematically some delicious snack will appear.

Anyway, determined I had enough ingredients to avoid going shopping, I collected together every scrap of nutrition that I had at my disposal.

This included an egg with ‘Nov 2015’ printed on it (I told you I wasn’t very organised!), half a packet of Wotsits, a mouldy onion and some very old Dairylea Dunkers.

Oh, the culinary wonders I could concoct using such premium ingredients.

I was convinced I was Workington’s answer to Delia Smith. The possibilities were endless!

I sat and chomped on the strangely moist Wotsits while I evaluated all the menu variations in my tiny brain.

Seeing as though I didn’t know how to poach an egg or sauté an onion I decided to play it safe and go with an omelette.

I furiously chopped the onion, as well as a few of my fingers. The tears weren’t due to the oniony gas, they were a manifestation of my frustration and pain.

Despite it being a bit soggy the onion seemed okay.

I was expecting to find a tiny civilisation that had evolved within the layers but I’m sure it had only been in the salad drawer for eight months tops.

Even the dunkers were okay. Sure, there was a little mould but isn’t that how penicillin was discovered? If I did get food poisoning then the home-made medication should counteract it.

Then I got to the egg.

Even I, a person who lives by the ‘five-second-on-the-ground’ rule and will happily share a bag of crisps with a coldsore-ridden buddy, was wary about Mr Humpty Dumpty.

I utilised some sunglasses and a few sheets of kitchen roll to create a home-made gas mask and set to work tapping the shell with a fork.

I must have stood there making sweet egg rhythms for about 20 minutes, petrified that I was going to unleash some pungent, evil yolk demon into the world.

Eventually my stomach grumbled at me to get a shift on and I wacked Humpty circa November 2015 so hard he cracked.

And then came black ooze. It smelled putrid.

For reasons unknown, I dipped my little finger in the yolk and held it to my tongue. I don’t know how else to describe it other than “sherbert and vinegar”. Needless to say, I didn’t eat it.

And tomorrow I’m definitely going grocery shopping!