I was watching the season premiere of CSI the other night. The proper CSI, not the technicoloured editfuckery that is CSI Miami, or the one with cod-eyed Sinise. The genuine article. Grissom. Vegas. Bad joo joo.

I was waiting for Sara Sidle to die in yet another preposterous ruse dreamt up by the Miniature Killer (how did she lower the car on Sidle? Hello? McFly?) when I realised I wanted a sandwich. This is a bad thing to want so close to bedtime, because the resulting indigestion would mean a restless night and dreams about owls.

I know exactly what the filling will be, too. Mature cheddar, a sprinkling of finely chopped red onion, black pepper and a virgin dollop of Hellman’s light mayonnaise from the unopened jar on the top shelf of the fridge.

I didn’t know what to do for the best. I needed guidance. And that’s when the advert for Hellman’s Light mayonnaise appeared on the screen. Look, there’s a sandwich in various stages of completion, rounded off by the afore-mentioned spoonful of creamy gorgeousness.

I took it as a sign from the Lord himself. God was telling me to have a sandwich. I promptly ambled off to the kitchen to make one. There could be no other explanation.

Thank goodness he decided to intervene during the ad break. If God had demanded I follow his will during CSI, I’d be murdering folk in some seriously fucked up ways right about now.

The sandwich was excellent, by the way. Only spoilt by a lack of pepper, which I’d ran out of the day before and neglected to replace.