Wednesday, 9 September 2009

An economic analysis of the chocolate industry, how the Scots lost their shoes, the problem with Space, and other such randomly placed theories.

Space. Not space, space - the final frontier; that place what sits above the sky. Not that space. The other space. Room - space. That's the reason why I have failed to write a blog for so long a time - I had nowhere to write it! Paper's pretty hard to come by in Walsall, like a species of bird apart from the pigeon and the kind what's between the ages of 12 & 17 and don't have a sprog growing in their womb. Thankfully, my boyfriend likes to travel, so he trotted off to Birmingham and bought me a notepad. It's far too special for this purpose, but noone told him to go to Paperchase...

Anyway, I'm currently sitting on a plane (not on top of it, you understand. But really, sometimes I feel I over think everything I write..) flying back from Cyprus, my country of origin - the homeland, where old men sit all day and women feed you. One day I think p'raps my Grandma, 74, might actually attach a drip onto every member of the immediate family. Quite ironic, considering she has an eye for noticing 0.0001 lb of weight gain, even if it is her culinary delights and force-feeding what did it.

Unfortunately, the colour of my skin suggests I've been somewhere with a much colder climate, like Iceland. Or Scotland. In a disappointing turn of events, I appear to have repelled the sun entirely this year. I am now so pale I'm transparent. Well, not really, but that would make for an awesome Biology lesson. Come to think of it, I might start selling the use of my sister to high schools around the country - she's anaemic.

Talking of Scotland, my nextdoor neighbour hails from that neck of the Northern woods. He's generally normal, although he says "hey ho" a lot and never wears shoes. While I'm sure he doesn't mean to suggest almost daily that I sleep around a lot, I do often wonder whether he knows about his lack of footwear. P'raps he thinks he's wearing shoes. Or maybe they just don't have shoes in Scotland. Saying that though, I met the lovely Glaswegian @ScruffyPanther recently and I do recall noticing that her feet were covered in shoes. Maybe she's been Anglicised.

On another quite random note, as appears to be the general style of this here blog, my younger sister has finally finished reading Harry Potter. She has that look of melancholy on her face, similar to that of a child's face on learning of the death of a beloved family pet, or like my face was the day I found out that Cadbury's had stopped making Wispa Gold*. The fools. The traditional bubbly chocolate of a Wispa with the added quality of a caramel layer? It was like they'd stolen the entirety of heaven and fit it all into a tiny gold wrapper. Incidentally, though slightly off-subject, Cadbury's conspired merely to spite me in my youth. The day they changed the price of a Chomp to 15p was the day I almost choked on my Curly-Wurly. Though, talking of confectionary let downs, I just found out that Werthers Originals are actually made in Germany, thus rendering the traditional English aspect of the adverts completely illegitimate and fake. The bastards. I might sue.

Anyway, I'd better stop here and make sure my sister doesn't kill herself.

I hope the money's worth it, Rowling.

*In a strange, slightly psychic turn of events, I returned to England to find that Cadbury's had started manufacturing Wipsa Golds once more. I might start thinking about Pretzel Flipz again. Any requests?

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