There is a quaint little shop just down the road from my home which sells old fashioned sweets.
I never used to go there on account of the fact that I already had too many fillings (I had so much metal in my molars that I could have make a mountain of money at the London Metal Exchange).
On day, while feeling sufficiently reckless as to be unconcerned about my growing collection of fillings, I boldly stepped across the threshold of this quaint purveyor of sweetly tempting dental traumas in the making in order to take a look, just to take a look mind you, just a teensy weensy quick little look inside. Honest guvnor.
Arranged neatly upon the shelves which line the walls of this tiny shop were countless glass jars glimmering seductively with all manner of sweets such as acid drops, chocolate limes, cough candy and pontefract cakes.
It was right there that day that I made the discovery that was to change my life.
Amongst the many sweets of all shapes and sizes on display were, joy of joys, aniseed twists! As if that werent enough, I also chanced upon clove sweets.
By chance (or was it fate), my gaze fell upon a jar of suspiciously darkly coloured spherically shaped objects, each just under an inch in diameter which, believe it or not, were cinnamon balls!!! Prior to that day I had not dared to dream that such a confectionery could exist.
Having made my purchases I strode home clutching the sweetie bags to my chest as happily as a leprechaun with a pot of gold and proceeded to subject myself to a brief but intense course of sucrose therapy.
As I sucked at those boiled sweets I felt a soft warmth spreading throughout my body lifting me up making me feel somehow lighter and happier. I felt as though I could accomplish anything. I felt at last like I was somebody, like I was somebody that mattered.
I took the remainder of the sweets into work and offered them around but, to my surprise, few of my work colleagues had the courage to sample the dark delights of aniseed, cinnamon and clove. In fact one person, who at first seemed to have the requisite moral fibre for the task at hand, tried a clove sweet only to spit it out and make a great big fuss about how he would never get that taste from his mouth.
What a laugh!
Oh how I wish my story ended there.
Alas I become an outcast. My taste for aniseed, cinnamon and clove confectioneries soon grew to become an addiction. I could not function without them. Just one little bag of sweets wasnt enough. Every Saturday morning without fail I could be found standing outside of the sweet shop, checking my watch every few moments, fidgeting with the handles of my wheelbarrow as I awaited the opening of the shop, as though I were waiting for the man to come and fix me up. Dog walkers and passers-by stared at me. Mothers told their children to look away. Teenagers threw stones at me. I spent all of my savings on these sweets. I borrowed from friends neither knowing nor caring how or when I would pay them back. I lost the remainder of my teeth but I cared not. I lost my job and my home. I became so desperate for aniseed, clove and cinnamon that soon I was reduced to begging for spare change from passing strangers. Well I remember how low I sank, for there came a time when I even stole candy from a baby.
I am not proud of the things that I did during my dark days of aniseed addiction but even as my darkest hour came upon me, even as all hope seemed lost I saw the light. Thats right brothers and sisters; there was hope even for a wretch like me. I tell you, he came and he saved me and I was born again thanks to him, our saviour Bertie Bassett. Hallelujah!! Praise his name. Believe in Bertie and you too can be saved. Amen.
I never used to go there on account of the fact that I already had too many fillings (I had so much metal in my molars that I could have make a mountain of money at the London Metal Exchange).
On day, while feeling sufficiently reckless as to be unconcerned about my growing collection of fillings, I boldly stepped across the threshold of this quaint purveyor of sweetly tempting dental traumas in the making in order to take a look, just to take a look mind you, just a teensy weensy quick little look inside. Honest guvnor.
Arranged neatly upon the shelves which line the walls of this tiny shop were countless glass jars glimmering seductively with all manner of sweets such as acid drops, chocolate limes, cough candy and pontefract cakes.
It was right there that day that I made the discovery that was to change my life.
Amongst the many sweets of all shapes and sizes on display were, joy of joys, aniseed twists! As if that werent enough, I also chanced upon clove sweets.
By chance (or was it fate), my gaze fell upon a jar of suspiciously darkly coloured spherically shaped objects, each just under an inch in diameter which, believe it or not, were cinnamon balls!!! Prior to that day I had not dared to dream that such a confectionery could exist.
Having made my purchases I strode home clutching the sweetie bags to my chest as happily as a leprechaun with a pot of gold and proceeded to subject myself to a brief but intense course of sucrose therapy.
As I sucked at those boiled sweets I felt a soft warmth spreading throughout my body lifting me up making me feel somehow lighter and happier. I felt as though I could accomplish anything. I felt at last like I was somebody, like I was somebody that mattered.
I took the remainder of the sweets into work and offered them around but, to my surprise, few of my work colleagues had the courage to sample the dark delights of aniseed, cinnamon and clove. In fact one person, who at first seemed to have the requisite moral fibre for the task at hand, tried a clove sweet only to spit it out and make a great big fuss about how he would never get that taste from his mouth.
What a laugh!
Oh how I wish my story ended there.
Alas I become an outcast. My taste for aniseed, cinnamon and clove confectioneries soon grew to become an addiction. I could not function without them. Just one little bag of sweets wasnt enough. Every Saturday morning without fail I could be found standing outside of the sweet shop, checking my watch every few moments, fidgeting with the handles of my wheelbarrow as I awaited the opening of the shop, as though I were waiting for the man to come and fix me up. Dog walkers and passers-by stared at me. Mothers told their children to look away. Teenagers threw stones at me. I spent all of my savings on these sweets. I borrowed from friends neither knowing nor caring how or when I would pay them back. I lost the remainder of my teeth but I cared not. I lost my job and my home. I became so desperate for aniseed, clove and cinnamon that soon I was reduced to begging for spare change from passing strangers. Well I remember how low I sank, for there came a time when I even stole candy from a baby.
I am not proud of the things that I did during my dark days of aniseed addiction but even as my darkest hour came upon me, even as all hope seemed lost I saw the light. Thats right brothers and sisters; there was hope even for a wretch like me. I tell you, he came and he saved me and I was born again thanks to him, our saviour Bertie Bassett. Hallelujah!! Praise his name. Believe in Bertie and you too can be saved. Amen.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
naruka:
thanks alot 
valeyard:
Just as long as you don't embrace vegemite paste on crackers - your tastes aren't all that weird to me!