Thursday, July 28, 2005
Some Candy Talking
Competition is heating up in the office to see who can bring the most revolting sweets back from holiday.
The nations represented so far in our Eurovision Sweet Contest are Spain, Italy, Cyprus and Greece.
The Greeks have it at the moment, with a foul hard boiled concoction, crunchy on the outside, slimy on the inside, tasting vaguely of liquorice and mustard.
I tried one and my tongue instantly turned green and I couldn’t shake “I wonder if one day that you’ll say that you care. If you say you love me madly I’ll gladly be there, like a puppet on a string” out of my head for the whole of Wimbledon fortnight.
Hard on their heels come the Spanish with Jelly Flops, a toxic fruit pastille variant, reminiscent of the Irish Sea.
The Eurosweets sit glowing on Stella’s filing cabinet, softly pulsating in their plastic bags like funfair goldfish on acid.
Nobody wants to eat them, not even Mike, but no one knows how to dispose of them safely either, so we leave them quietly buzzing in a state of radioactive-confectionary-waste-limbo, fruitlessly hoping that they’ll somehow go away by themselves and become someone else’s problem.
Terry and Tabs return from France on Monday and we’re already holding our breaths.
The nations represented so far in our Eurovision Sweet Contest are Spain, Italy, Cyprus and Greece.
The Greeks have it at the moment, with a foul hard boiled concoction, crunchy on the outside, slimy on the inside, tasting vaguely of liquorice and mustard.
I tried one and my tongue instantly turned green and I couldn’t shake “I wonder if one day that you’ll say that you care. If you say you love me madly I’ll gladly be there, like a puppet on a string” out of my head for the whole of Wimbledon fortnight.
Hard on their heels come the Spanish with Jelly Flops, a toxic fruit pastille variant, reminiscent of the Irish Sea.
The Eurosweets sit glowing on Stella’s filing cabinet, softly pulsating in their plastic bags like funfair goldfish on acid.
Nobody wants to eat them, not even Mike, but no one knows how to dispose of them safely either, so we leave them quietly buzzing in a state of radioactive-confectionary-waste-limbo, fruitlessly hoping that they’ll somehow go away by themselves and become someone else’s problem.
Terry and Tabs return from France on Monday and we’re already holding our breaths.

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