As I was arranging my orange b&q buckets into the shape of a wicker man this evening I got to wondering the following...
If you were a rich tea biscuit would you prefer the incredibly painful but quick death of being dunked in a hot mug of tea or the slow lingering death of being forgotten in the biscuit tin with your comrades
If I was a rich tea biscuit, I’d like to be crushed with a rolling pin, enjoy the company of some glacé cherries and plump juicy sultanas before we all got covered in melted chocolate, allowed to harden then slowly melt again in a cup of tea. Bliss.
Vesta Chow Mein with Crispy Noodles was the only exotic food that ever got served in our house - my dad used to eat them but it was years later before I ever had anything 'foreign' and that was sweet and sour chicken nicked from my brother's take away. We were definitely a meat and two veg household. I still can't eat anything that I can't clearly see what it is - and the advert for pesto makes me heave.