I cried at the carvery.

Well, not in the carvery, but in the car outside.

Sometimes, trying to stick to your own morals can be humiliating. Here's the story...

We were walking in Rothbury around New Year's Eve time last year. It's a weird family thing. They all do a lot of walking but the week between Christmas and NYE is the one time of year that walking is mandatory.

So we went up a few hills and the snow was pretty thick. It was heading towards another blizzard by the time we cam back down. Had a pretty good time of it but we were all very cold, tired and hungry. Ever felt that special combination of the three when you've been outside for long periods of time? You're not ready to fall asleep, but just weary and the prospect of food in a warm pub is highly anticipated.

But then the sting. It was a carvery. Now my folks aren't to blame as such. Yes they booked it in advance, and no one had told me it was a carvery, but they always take me into account and went on the assumption there'd be a veggie option.

I had my reserves. This was at the point days before my "official" start of being a vegan. Things in the food world were... sensitive.

So we got sat down and began ordering. You had to approach the counter and tell them what to fill your plate with. I stood up last so there was quite a queue in front of me. From where I was standing I couldn't see much, but what I could see was largely meat.

My turn came around.

"Can I have the veggie dinner please?" I said, thumbing to a sign next to me with the options written on.

The cook frowned. A large, greasy hairy man covered in various stains, all in the spectrum of brown.

"You shudda asked in advance." He offered, already busying himself on the next customer. "We're gonna have to cook some fer ye".

"How long will that take?"

He shrugged, not even looking at me.

"20 minutes? Half an hour?"

I looked around. My family and everyone else were already tucking in. Plates full of steaming vegetables, gravy and whatever meat they chose. In twenty minutes they'd be finished.

I had a choice. Wait the twenty minutes and start my dinner once everyone else was getting ready to leave, putting myself once again squarely under the spotlight with my diet, or go without.

I went without.

I sat back at the table. My parents quickly asked where mine was. I said they had nothing on, I'd have to wait. I said I wasn't really bothered.

They offered some consolations and tried to offer me some veggies off their plates. It all got to me too much.

"I'll wait in the car." I mumbled and scurried out.

I bought what I could from the co-op: some salt and pepper cashews and a fruit salad. The cashews had whey powder in them.

I cried.