Broccoli Brain

Broccoli brain. That's what they called his condition. The doctor was showing him MRI scans of his brain with all the broccoli nodules at the top. The cause was too many vegetables apparently.

"I'm sad to say this Mr Hughes but you are what you eat. And it seems that you are a mix of tenderstem broccoli in honey mustard sauce."

"Right, so what treatment do you recommend?"

"As you'll see in this leaflet there is no known cure. However we can slow down the broccolification of your brain with a heavy diet. You know, burgers, chips, deep-fried mars bars, sugary Yum Yum doughnuts... You know, what people who shop at Asda eat."

Mr Hughes thought about contesting his doctor, but the doctor didn't pause.

"I've written you a prescription for 12 cans of cola a week. Oh and some vouchers for Happy Slopper products. Now I would give you the chance to ask any questions but your 10 minute NHS time slot is over. Count yourself lucky Mr Hughes. From September you'll only get 8 minutes. Goodbye! Next please!"

The patient walked out the clinic to the bus stop in a state of confusion. It never used to be like this. It always used to be "get your 5 a day" and "get off your bum and walk". But no. Times had changed.

He palmed through the leaflet and none of it made any sense. It seemed they wanted to fill you with toxic garbage food to try and poison you to prevent you from changing.

What a load of nonsense. He had the odd headache from time to time. Sometimes he felt a bit nauseous but it wasn't that bad. He binned the leaflet and the cola cans and waited for the people wagon to arrive.

That evening he searched through various sites online. Forums were full of people reporting broccolified brains. Some people were saying there was a Russian conspiracy. Some people said it was how we were going to mutate into aliens. Some shared photos of the latter stages where green broccoli stalks were protruding from their heads.It was hard to know what to make of this vast swamp of information. Who could be trusted?

He fried some broccoli in some sesame oil in a pan, and slathered on honey mustard sauce when it was done. He wasn't going eat that prescribed Happy Slopper sludge. lurgh!

He fell asleep in his armchair and dreamed about vegetables sprouting from the earth. He was transfixed by carrots plunging their roots deeply into the soil. He was amazed by the patterns on cabbages, the infinite endless fractals of lines and grooves and cabbage veins. He was in awe of cauliflowers vortexing swirls, growing larger and larger. All slurping nutrients from the soil and basking in the sun.

And the vegetables had eyes and mouths. They were communicating. Goodness me. It was all a bit larger than life. He was slightly scared and woke up with a startle. He felt like he'd seen a decade of vegetables in just a few hours sleep.

Being the middle of the night he turned the TV onto a rerun of Countryfile. The presenter was prancing around fields in Shropshire where they were ripping up the old

trees to replace with sugar cane crops and wheat to keep up with demand for bready goods. A billowing storm was approaching the lady and in the next shot she was sheltering under a gazebo.

He cricked his back and returned to bed.

He woke up with a pounding headache. It wasn't a migraine, but something almost there. He chewed his muesli slowly and then got dressed. After catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he realised he desperately needed a haircut. He hated getting his hair cut, the hairdressers, the blithering bumbling monotous small talk - so his hair tended to grow into a gigantic mass until it impaired his vision.

At the barbers he was served straight away with it being early. "Short back and sides and a trim on the top. The barbaress grabbed her sheep shearers and ploughed across his mullet.

"OWwwww!" yelled Mr Hughes.

"Sorry are you okay, love? I seem to have caught something" He stoop up, wincing. It seemed that the clippers had caught an emerging broccoli stalk coming from the back of his head.

"No I'm not!" Green coloured mucus was oozing out the wound. "Do you have a bandage or something?"

She flung various stale towels and vacuum cleaners out the cupboard before digging out an old first aid kit. She wrapped a bandage around his head and told him not to worry. Strangely the pain was passing quickly so he let her cut the rest of mullet off with the scissors.

He left and the barbaress insisted that he didn't pay.

He walked the long way home across the cow pastures. The air was still fresh with the scent of dew and crusty manure. He took and deep breath of the aroma and sighed.

Nothing like nature to start the day. The cows had a curious expression on their faces. He'd never paid much attention to them before. But it was like he was able to communicate with them.

"Who are you?" they seemed to be asking in their moo.

He looked around to see if anyone was watching, then he mooed back to them. "Walker" he intended to say. They raised their eyebrows and turned away disinterestedly.

This broccoli brain thing seemed to have more effects than he realised. But who knows what on earth would happen with it. He decided that he wouldn't worry about it too much, and spent the afternoon planting seeds.