HOW does it go now? That’s it: a Bandit hit a Penguin over the head with a Club and made a Breakaway in a Taxi – ba-dum, tish.
Ah, the good old family biscuit – eternally humble, but as much a British institution as the Monarchy, BBC or Last Night of the Proms.
Everyone loves a biscuit. And everyone has their personal favourite – a special biccie we’ve clung faithfully to down the years, exuding undying loyalty only comparable to that of lifelong allegiance to a particular football team.
I don’t know about you, but I’d have loved to work in a biscuit factory, especially in the product sampling department.
Imagine how many mugs of cha the fortunate ones must get through in a typical shift. Would measurements be conducted by the cupful, I wonder? Or would gallons be more apt?
And then there would be the unending kudos which came with the role.
How good would it feel, puffing out your chest and informing someone you’re a grade one dunker – a prestigious biscuit dipper from the factory biscuit gang.
Controversial viewpoint, maybe – but Hob Nobs are tops in my eyes. Robust in texture, they survive dunking with ease, rarely breaking off and creating that awful porridge like mush at the bottom of the cup, necessitating a return trip to the kitchen to mash a fresh brew.
Harking back, the old TV biscuit adverts were something else, laced with catchy little ditties which, once absorbed, would impregnate the subconscious and leave folk singing away for hours if not days.
I mean, who can forget the immortal, when you’re feeling a little bit peckish, p-p-p-pick up a Penguin. Or the eternal, if you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit join our Club.
And don’t forget the Classic, Wagon Wheels are a treat for me. Still are, in fact, though with shrinkflation, I think they should perhaps be re-christened Skateboard Wheels. Our school tuck shop used to sell gazillions daily. I don’t know what the next numerical stage after gazillions is - but the denomination wouldn’t be far off how many Jammie Dodgers they got through at the same time.
Another top dunk was the legendary Sport biscuit, slender shortcake offerings embossed with matchstick men, frozen in various sports poses. Rugby. Cricket. Snooker and tennis. My nephew, Mark Jones, once possessed what could only be described as a disturbing affliction when it came to Sport biscuits.
Whenever he ripped into a packet, he had an unbreakable, unshakeable rule inside his head, ensuring he kept dunking until he found a footballer – even if the bulk of the packet disappeared in the process. Nice, eh? Oops, sorry. Unintentional biscuit reference. Nice biscuits - crunchy, rectangular biccies with a scalloped edge, coconut flavouring and a sugary, granulated topping to boot.
Many houses still own a biscuit tin – cylindrical tin objects with an airtight lid, adorned with attention-grabbing designs. Every imaginable type of biscuit can be found jumbled up inside.
Digestive, chocolate and plain. Butter Crinkle and Ginger Nuts. Shortcake, Custard Creams and Rich Tea. And, yes, even Bourbons - a short straw on lucky dips if ever there was one.
Enter any supermarket and the biscuit display seems to go on forever, an explosion of eye-catching colour – as if a giant rainbow has been washed out of the sky, soaking the aisle with a prodigious, polychromatic show of pigmentation.
Exceptional marketing – if only the biscuit gang would put the same amount of effort into devising a foolproof method of getting packets open, eradicating temperamental tear strips or breadknife wrapper decapitations forever.
Don’t forget your crackers, either. No, no, no…not you. Calm down. If I’d meant you, I’d have said so, wouldn’t I? Anyway, by all accounts it’s impossible to eat four crackers in a minute. A pal of mine tried it once and nearly choked on a metal puzzle and a set of miniature playing cards.
Oh, crumbs - we’re out of space. One last thing, though: after scoffing all those luscious biccies, if you get the urge to join Slimming World online and are asked if you’ll accept cookies, just reply: is this a trick question…?
