Wednesday, 11th May 2005.

"I always drink coffee when I watch radar..."

It's strange, the thoughts that occur to you in the shower. It's such an abstract, autonomous process that the daily ritual happens more or less on autopilot, which leaves you time to think. Just this morning I was humming away to myself, quite contented, when I suddenly had one of those moments. And here's the somewhat topical poser that popped fully-formed into my head: How exactly does Darth Vader eat?

I'm sure that this has been done before. But until now, it had honest-to-God never crossed my mind. Here's the thing: the helmet is creepy but it's also a necessity, as we find out come Empire and Jedi and so forth. Over the last few years, more and more of Vader's backstory has been revealed up until the crucial moment in the impending Episode III, where we will presumably get to see the obnoxious Anakin plunge down into the lava, no doubt viewed from above, facing up towards us, in slow motion, with John William's score going into overdrive. Cue the inevitable comparisons with Terminator II, Alien 3 and Return of the King. Meanwhile, a wounded Obi-Wan collapses at the edge of the precipice, breathing heavily, sighing with an immeasurable sense of relief that he'll never again have to experience one of Hayden Christensen's "brooding" faces.

Anyway. If the mask is not only a psychological aid to striking terror into the hearts of the cowardly but also an essential health aid, we can presume that the only time Vader can remove his facial gear is when he's surrounded by a plastic bubble of some sort, much like John Travolta in that 1976 TV movie - or, indeed, like the one Vader himself is observed using about halfway through Empire. Unlike his satirical counterpart, Spaceballs' Dark Helmet, Vader doesn't have the luxury of being able to lift his visor to drink coffee the way that Rick Moranis does. He's relegated instead to pouring it through his vents.

These, and other assorted musings on the subject, were happily dancing through my brain as I was towelling dry. Emily was fast asleep in the next room, and as tempting as it was to spring onto the bed demanding answers (in much the same way as Dougal raises Ted from consciousness to ask him if he wants a peanut in the parochial house's Christmas story), I couldn't quite bring myself to do it, so I let her sleep. When we spoke over lunch, I threw the question her way.

"He just lifts the visor, doesn't he?"
"I don't think he can. I think we established that in Return of the Jedi."
"What, so he can't even lift it quickly and chuck it in?"
"Probably not. It's an oxygen mask."
"Well, how does it work? Is it, like, linked up with the rest of his outfit?"
"I think so," I said, remembering the final scene on the incomplete Death Star in which Luke removes Vader's mask, piece by piece. "That's the impression I got."
"Well, I'm very glad that you chose not to wake me up to talk to me about this."
"You're welcome."
"Anyway, maybe he doesn't need to eat. Maybe he just feeds off evil or something."
"Maybe," I replied, thinking about the prospect of the Force as a nutrient.
"Or perhaps he was enormous when he fell into the lava and he's feeding off his fat reserves."

That's not the impression I got from the trailer - and besides, the thought of Vader as a large polar bear was downright surreal, so I said "I don't think that's likely."
"Perhaps it's a special oxygen mask. And he can extract essential nutrients from the air around him."
"Maybe..."
"The thing is," she went on, well into her stride now, "to answer that question I'd have to know more about the mask. I mean, if it's an oxygen mask, where does he get the oxygen from? Does he have it plugged into the suit anywhere? You don't see him carrying around little canisters."
"Like the ones they mentioned at our ante-natal class?"

This caused me to start thinking about the concept of Jedi birthing clinics, where the most oft-heard phrase around the wards is "Use the forceps, Luke!", so I swiftly moved on to talk about something else.

Raising the subject in the office brought forth a surprisingly varied cluster of answers. Alison thought that he might have some sort of nutritional aid built into his suit. Davida suggested that "maybe Sith lords don't need to eat". John, on the other hand, suggested that he might consume some sort of nutritional health drink - "perhaps a milkshake".
"You mean he's on the Slimfast plan?"
"Exactly!"

This seems a likely answer. Slimfast works by coating your stomach to give you the impression that you've already eaten - but as many people who have tried it will tell you, the feeling of being full doesn't actually last for very long. It would certainly explain why Darth Vader was so perpetually grumpy. You may wonder why on earth I got so pre-occupied with this, but it seems to be one of those plot holes that was never really taken care of - and by all accounts, I'm not the first person to have thought of it. A quick Google brought up this extract from a 2003 blog by someone imagining what would happen if he and his friends had ever got round to hosting their dream celebrity dinner party:

"We'd been discussing Moby's special dietary needs, when it struck me. How does Darth Vader eat? Can he only have soup, with a straw? Does he lift the grill up at the front like the hood of a Chevvy? <sic> Maybe we just plug him into the mains, or something. I hope it doesn't end up socially awkward."

The idea of Darth Vader eating soup with a straw is an amusing one, but somehow I just don't buy it. Perhaps it's the concept of Vader in a Michelin-favoured restaurant, white napkin tucked conspicuously into his chest circuitry, roses clumsily arranged on the table, perhaps with a lone violinist scratching out a shaky rendition of the Imperial March. And Vader testing the piping soup, before casually dispatching the waiter with a hasty Force grip and the words "I find your lack of salt disturbing". Perhaps, behind the scenes, we'd witness a team of Jedi apprentices using telekinesis to levitate scalding pans out of fiery ovens, chopping up onions with lightsabers, while the head chef - a short, wrinkled Japanese type - looks on and makes comments like "Fry not. Stew. Or stew not. There is no 'fry'..."