We all examined the contents of my bacon roll. The sticky, strange-looking white thing could have been a bit of greaseproof paper. But it wasn't. In fact, there was little doubt about what it was. Wedged in the roll, between my greasy, undercooked slice of bacon and a dollop of HP sauce, was a sticking plaster. "At least there wasn't a finger in it, lad," counselled my colleague Pat. "You could damage your teeth on the nail of a finger."
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