Pretentious Chocolate

A regular feature in the magazine, Private Eye, is Pseuds Corner, an absolute delight for anyone who enjoys reading pretentious language popped and brought down to earth like a bust balloon.  So that's one pleasure, yes? Call it P1.

Another pleasure is, I'm the first to admit, is eating chocolate.  Call that P2.

What a wonderful moment it is when P1 and P2 is combined.  Here, without a word of exaggeration, is what came wrapped round a posh box of chocs.

"Chocolate making is a science as well as an art.  (Fair enough, but here's where the writer really spits on his hands and gets going.). To be fully appreciated, my chocolates are best eaten in a quiet space with an ambient temperature of 21 degrees C and a glass of still water to cleanse the palate.  Your senses of tastes and smell are particularly attuned at 11 am and 6 pm when the distinctive ingredients I bring together will really work their magic."

Yeah, right.  That sort of thing really defies comment but it’s clearly written by someone who’s incapable of calling a spade anything but a manually operated earth moving device.  Nice chocolates, though.

On another note...(Tra la!) I use Wordpress to host my blog and one of the things it has is a nifty little device that tells you how many people have looked at the blogs.  In February it was – get this – 20,126.

Gosh.  So, if you’re reading this, you are not alone...  Well, you might be.  You might be curled up with your laptop, the cat, pretentious chocolate and a glass of something or a cup of the drink that cheers but not inebriates, as the Victorians (bless them!) used to refer to tea. Or coffee or hot chocolate with marshmallows (In cyberspace no one knows if you’ve got cream). You know what I mean.

Anyway, after having a dekko at the figures, I got my calculator out.  It’s got Donald Duck on the lid and when you lift it up, it plays “It’s A Small World After All.” which means I usually count numbers on my fingers.  However, even if I take my socks off and use my toes, I can’t get up to 20,126 (it’s an evolutionary thing) so I enlisted the help of Donald.  And Donald tells me that 20,126 divided by the 28 days of February is 718.78571 per day.  So if you happen to bump into the unfortunate soul who’s only made it to point 78571, slip them a bar of (pretentious) chocolate, treat them kindly and, with luck and your help, they may become a whole person.

Happy Mothers' Day everyone.  I hope you got some chocolate!