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I could transport myself back to the 1980s with one simple sound effect. If you tried to write it onomatopoeiacally, it would be something like "WHONNNG". The sound of metal grinding on metal, releasing a gush of sugary air.
The sound of one of these babies being cracked open.
It's December. We all know what that means. Delving elbows deep into a shiny, rustling cellophane ballpit of joy and emerging triumphant with a sticky paw full of the sparkling booty
WHONNNG. It's late. Your nan's pissed on sherry. There's an old war film on. The batteries in your Bigtrak have conked out and you're BORED. When's dinner? WE ONLY ATE FIVE MINUTES AGO. But wait. A faint rustling. A heavy object the size of Dundee enters the room. Oh god.
IT'S THE LADY AND THE SOLDIER, FOR SOME REASON, ON A CHOCOLATE TIN, HEAVING WITH MAGENTA. A TIN THAT MOST HUMANS CANNOT HOLD. AND YET HERE COMES YOUR MUM, LIKE GEOFF CAPES LIFTING A FORD FIESTA, BRINGING IT OVER
Why was it a lady and a soldier? What kind of Edwardian romance was this? Why was his hat so big? Why was hers? What was the story here? He's... He's got more on his mind than a peanut cracknell, I'll wager. Naughty boy.
NONE OF THIS MATTERED. You didn't CARE about the man. The lady. The pictures. You just wanted the GIANT TIN CYLINDER. AN R2D2 FULL OF SUGAR. A BOTTOMLESS TUB OF CHOCOLATE AND CELLOPHANE JOY. JUMP INTO THE TOFFEE PENNIES AND GO TO FUCKING NARNIA.
And here, in this photo, you can see heaven itself. The most incredible confection known to humanity. The moment that Rutherford knew he had been trounced. I am Mackintosh's of Norwich, destroyer of worlds. For I have made...
NO. NOT THE PURPLE HAZELNUT (PREVIOUSLY BRAZIL NUT) ONE.
No. For God's sake. Who the hell asked you? Piss off with your green triangle.
Sure, we liked the strawberry one. Of course. Who didn't? You'd be mad not to. But no. That is simply good.
Ah, the forlorn sight of Boxing Day. Nothing but these rather sad, lonely coconut jokers left on the softly reflecting tin surface, which you will soon use as a drum, and be shouted at for using as a drum
Ah look. The rhomboid fudge affair. A bleak disappointment when you were angling for more. You'd have one. But you'd feel NOTHING. Because you had been to paradise
These little caramel ones would suffice for a forbidden snack. When you were alone in the front room and the TIN WAS THERE. And you tried to ease the lid off like you were defusing a nuclear BOMB or Indiana Jones replacing the golden idol
The ORANGE CREAM. yes. That was joy. That was the dream. And yet. There was one that beat it.
DADDY DADDY DADDY WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO MUMMY
"I was just remembering when we used to screw and eat chocolates all day on Christmas Day and then get pissed, but we're REALLY HAPPY you're here now"
"I was just remembering when we used to screw and eat chocolates all day on Christmas Day and then get pissed, but we're REALLY HAPPY you're here now"
Look. There she is. Poking out coquettishly in front of the glamorous lady's parasol. The finest chocolate ever known. The moment the human race peaked, and since when it has been completely downhill. Yes. Here we are. The GOOSEBERRY CREAM.
My god. The gooseberry cream.
THERE WERE ONLY EVER THREE IN A TIN, MAX. OH, YOU'D GET TOFFEE PENNIES. AND TOFFEE OTHER ONES. AND FUCKING BROWN TOFFEES. TOFFEE THIS AND TOFFEE THAT. TOFFEE TOFFEE TOFFEE, FUCK OFF. WHERE IS MY FUCKING GOOSEBERRY CREAM YOU BASTARDS
We had her for such a short time. She was our Diana. Such beauty, such demurity. Grace. Poise. And yet, like a candle in the wind, never knowing who to cling to when the rain set in, she left us. She was there, and then she was gone.
You look back, in middle age, like you do at your first love, or that time you tried to kiss the most beautiful girl in the room, and you DID, and for a moment the world was everything you ever wanted, and you danced home, and couldn't sleep, giddy with excitement
But you didn't know, not then, that it was just a moment, just a time you could cling to, just a fragment of time, you could see one day again, like looking through misty glass. Just a memory. But what a memory. My god. The gooseberry cream.
For that moment, that moment only, you lived. You really lived.
And then your BROTHER kicked you in the head and ran upstairs with your Action Man, and that was that.
And you never realised, not then, that you'd kill one day to be kicked in the head with a faint trace of gooseberry sharpness gurgling around your mouth. You never knew. You never knew what you'd lose.
OF COURSE THEY'RE A LOT SMALLER NOW
And Roses were shit. Before you start.
WHONNNNNNG
