Pregnant with spam

 I do like the phrases once used of astronauts, 'Spam in a Can', coined by Chuck Yeager in response to the fully automated Mercury space flights in the 1960s. Never did get the hang of enjoying the processed meat product however.  Even as a child I found it unappealing, verging on the inedible, and my parents would often boost the saturated fat content by frying the damn stuff  to have with eggs (which my mother famously used to cook in a deep-fat chip pan).  Or we would have it as part of a salad with slices of pickled beetroot staining the pale pink meat a lighter shade of purple.  Worst of all was when it appeared as the filling in a sandwich.  I still gag slightly at the thought of biting through the fluffy white bread spread with margarine and into the slimy, slightly gritty texture of the spam itself.  It was always more chewy than it should have been.  It's seeming indigestability often made my stomach turn sour, leaving me feeling heavy, pregnant with a solid slab of processed pork.  Shockingly spam sales seem to be on the rise again because consumers perceive it be a 'good buy' at a time of economic crisis and financial stringency.  Oh, dear.  If it helped the space race I still wouldn't eat spam.