CHOCOLATE FUDGE CRUNCH CREAMS The logical chocolatey conclusion to the excellent Crunch Cream series, CFCCs are back to stake a claim as mass-produced biscuit champion. No longer hiding away in Morrisons but readily available at handy Somerfields this rich, fudgy biscuit with it’s cracked earth sandwich texture and sumptuous cream has been hidden in the shadows at the bottom of selection boxes for long enough. A change of packet colour (from purple to brown) has assuaged my fears that it may just disappear again somewhat but I will still make the most of them whilst they are here. The only area in which this biscuit loses points is in the fact that there is no cheap alternative to it and they are a little pricey. But for your money you get what is surely the best chocolate-oriented sandwich biscuit on the market.
Month: May 2008
The Dylan Dog
Like A Rolling Stone was emitting from a crackly radio somewhere in the back of the bookshop when Colin dragged Sally in there. Searching through the shelves of crumbling covers she wondered why Colin, a mongrel with an eyepatch, had wandered this way and barked until they entered the shop. Colin meanwhile was relaxing with his paws stretched out in front of him and his head resting on his front legs, an earnest expression on his face as he imagined that he was drinking a whisky sitting in a small, dark, smoky dive watching Bob Dylan sing in the corner. As the song finished he lead Sally back out onto the dusty streets and along to a nearby record shop. Once inside he strained at his leash to get to the ‘D’ section and attracted the attention of the shop by yapping until Sally bought Blonde on Blonde. And so the obsession started. Now every Saturday Colin leads Sally around record shops to complete his LP collection and when Sally’s Dad plays his Dylan Best of Colin growls disapprovingly at this repackaging of his favourites.
You’ve Got A Beard But You Don’t Wear It Like A Man
Your beard engulfs your face, covers your eyes
It’s thick enough to protect you from flies
(They fly into the thick fuzz and get stuck
Without even the company of a good book).
It cannot be real, it’s far too shiny clean,
So well trimmed and shampooed, so pristine.
It looks as though it barely touches your face
Just hovers above the skin in the right place.
It stops bullets dead and deflects radiation,
Remains utterly impervious to penetration.
Your beard is thick but never grows long
Hides your alien nose, chin, lips and tongue.
A pink moon hung in the sky when Mr Key came out to meet the night. He took a deep breath and took slow, winding steps around the back yard. The night was quiet, the whole village was quiet. Mr Key stopped and silently shivered to himself in his short shirt sleeves. The village always seemed quiet at night, quiet and grey. He wandered around in circles like a caged animal, thinking to himself.
The back yard was empty but for his rock and a home made tree. It had sprung up one empty Sunday afternoon when Mr Felder had decided that the yard needed a little sprucing up. Lacking the patience needed to allow a tree to grow, Mr Felder instead set about building one from the materials readily available to him. He spent the first hour lugging any spare old furniture down from the loft and then set about disassembling the cupboards, tables and chairs assembled on the floor. The larger parts were planted as a trunk and then branches were added, then twigs. After two hours of nailing and gluing bits together Mr Felder needed a step ladder to reach the top. Mr Key had begun to feel that this was a silly project, but when Mary Jane and Jacomo came round to visit they were amazed and impressed and he knew it had been a good plan. Mr Felder looked pleased with the effect. The kids were set to work making paper leaves to pin on. It was the children that kept life interesting. The shop was so quiet and dull without them and they made the day hectic. Closing his eyes he could see their faces and thought it such a shame that they would become as old as he was.
If only you could stop a clock from ticking every second and only choose the ones that counted.
The Digestive Press Way Of Things
Some Small Nonsense
The ceiling rose and fell like a breathing chest.
Staring up and sprawled like a swatted fly,
He composed a step by step guide to getting up.
The afternoon passed to charcoal grey first. Continue reading