Posts Tagged ‘Biscuits’

The sales pitch had gone well, much better than expected. I was delighted when the Purchasing Manager confirmed the order for 5,000 glue sticks.  I had reached my monthly sales target two weeks early. There was a good chance of a hefty bonus this month.

I sat back, relaxed and watched England dissolve beneath me as the train sped Northwards.

The Dolphin sat in the seats opposite. He wore an overcoat with the collar turned up. A bowler hat was perched rather pompously on his head. At regular intervals as he emitted from his blowhole, the hat would be lifted and hover briefly above his head, like a felt lined Halo, before landing with a satisfying plop.

The Dolphin looked familiar.

A flustered trolley attendant manoeuvred his sturdy carriage towards us. I ordered a coffee and a packet of chocolate chip biscuits. After all I did have something to celebrate.

The Dolphin ordered a bottle of diet Coke and a slice of fruit cake. I had been tempted by the sultana infused fancy but had veered toward the biscuit at the last moment.

“How much?” The Dolphin asked.

“On the house,” replied the attendant in a gracious Scottish accent. The Bowler performed its gymnastic feat in celebration. “After all,” the attendant continued, “It is not every day that the world’s greatest Quantum Physicist travels East Coast Mainline!”

“Very kind of you.”

“Not at all. May I take the opportunity to say that your use of Lascalle’s Diminishing Calculus Theory to demonstrate that the Universe is a bit knobbly in places has changed the course of history. It is an honour to meet you.” Again the Dolphin’s hat hovered above him, but this time landed at a much jauntier angle atop his bonce.

The attendant offered a packet of hand crimped Sea Salt and Vinegar crisps. The Dolphin graciously declined.

I watched for twenty minutes as the intellect that had discovered the knobbly bits of the Universe struggled to unscrew the  bottle cap and remove  the cake’s cellophane wrapping.

The Dolphin swore quietly to himself in a series of sonic clicks no doubt hoping that there was another, more dextrous Bottlenose on board the 11.48 to Waverley.

A boy of eight summers approached. He wore the green jersey of the Cub Scout movement. His right sleeve bore a new badge which read  “For Pedantry”.

“Do you want to any help?” The Cub asked with evangelical eagerness. The Dolphin nodded his assent. The Cub took the items from the Dolphin’s tray, unscrewed the bottle and removed the wrapper.

“Many thanks!”

“I thought Dolphins were meant to be clever,” The Cub said.

I munched on my second chocolate chip cookie, wondering what to do with my bonus.

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We’ve arrived!

“Daring, Brave, Challenging, Decisive, Bold, Witty, Urbane, Erotic, Erratic, Cobblers, Genre Defining, Lithe, Nibble and Chomp” – all words used to describe “Ginger Wig And Biscuits – Dunk Me” our first foray into the previously little known sub genre art of wigs and biscuits on plates next to eachother.

As our regular arts critic Brian Sewer remarked, “Biscuits imply tea. Tea is liquid. Gin is liquid. Make mine a double Barkeep!”

If you have £2,500 it is yours.

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The man checked his watch. Another hour or so to London.

There was widespread opposition to the road widening scheme. The Public Enquiry would expose these. He knew he needed to affect a cautious, yet professional manner in front of the Planning Inspector, extolling the benefits of the project; improved traffic flow, reduced bottlenecks and carbon savings. His evidence would counter the emotional arguments the community groups were promoting in opposition to the road widening.

He had given evidence at similar enquiries. The Inspectorate had always concurred with him after their deliberations. He was quietly confident that they would do so again and that finally, after seven years of tortuous negotiation, protest and funding crises work could begin.

He was thirsty. The trolley attendant was making her way towards him. He caught her eye. She smiled at him.

“Tea please” he said.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Yes please,”

As she poured, he looked out of the window at the monotonous landscape of eastern England. The trolley attendant sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said.


She placed the cup down on the table in front of him and provided a napkin, two cartons of UHT milk, two sachets of brown sugar and a plastic stirrer.

“£1.50 please.” He held the exact money out for her, all the time staring out of the carriage window.

She moved on. Instantly, there was a scream. A scream of such dark terror that it shook him from his thoughts. He looked for the source of the scream. In the next row a catatonic, but smartly dressed, middle aged business woman was shaking with terror.

“Excuse me sir,” the trolley attendant said.


“Is there a glass eye in your cup of tea?”


“A glass eye. I appear to have mislaid mine.” He looked up at her and recoiled at the sight of her left eye socket, bereft of an eyeball.

He peeled back the plastic lid of his cup and there, bobbing in his beverage was a glass eye. It had a slightly peevish air about it.

“What colour is your eye?” he asked.


“This one is brown.”

“Oh,” she said, “Never mind, I must have dropped it somewhere else.”

He again looked into her gaping eye socket. The socket’s muscles twitched feverishly.

“Have you got any biscuits?” He liked a biscuit with his tea.

“Shortbread or Gingernuts?”

“Shortbread please” She handed a packet to him.

“£1 please”. He handed her the exact money once more.

He fished the eye and then the tea bag out of the cup. He examined the eyeball. It was heavier than he imagined.

The tea tasted funny.

But the biscuits were tasty.

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