1. pillaging the bounty of free CDs and porn that my magazine receives
2. receiving an unexpected gift—in this case a fab shirt from flatmate mitch [see above]
3. morning sex. better than a cup of tea to get you going on a rainy london morning [insert your favourite cream joke here]
4. literary boy-on-boy action; in this case, allen ginsberg lusting after walt whitman:

    I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the
grocery boys.
    I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
    I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
    We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

    Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close
in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
    Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees
add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we’ll both be
lonely.
    Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?

    Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
What America did you have when Charon quit poling his
ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watch-
ing the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?