Well, it’s happened: the exhilarating first sighting of the signs of easter, creme eggs! It happened in Dublin, and I got very excited and immediately began to plot easter shenanigans, eg. leaving chocolate eggs all over the flat (not mine, that would be no fun, but the one I couch surf at often, with P and M. they will find eggs in their cups and their bread and couch and ashtrays and in their beds and their pockets and their beards), and sampling the exquisite range of different kinds of creme eggs, which, in my opinion, is the finest kind of chocolately treat there is, only made better by the fact that the’re seasonal. Aha, easter is upon us! But.. no. My grand plans were somewhat taken down a notch when I realised that easter is still three months away. Oh, this silly country. Still, can’t complain about the chocolate.

I feel it’s high time for a review! There are many things I’ve never sampled before in the egg range this season. Here is one of them:

Cadbury Creme Egg Twisted!

I finally succumbed to the lure of these when I saw them on special at Boots. They have provoked my curiousity for the last few weeks, causing me troubled dreams. Given my love for a Creme Egg, Especially the bit when you get to the yoke, after all the hard work of the outer shell (especially the top bit) it really is an awesome reward.

The first bit yeilds quite easily, which surprises me somewhat considering the aforementioned hard work. In my mouthful I get some pleasingly runny white stuff and yolk, which is also surprising as usually you get too much of something and none of something else (eg. too much chocolate, no filling) because of the Creme Egg’s unusual shape. A Creme Egg will often leave you sticky, overloaded and with a sticky ball of tin foil. The genius of the Twisted bar is that it avoids all the usual problems associated with Creme Egg eating.The filling and Chocolate is evenly distributed, the ridging on the outside makes pleasant bite size portions, there’s no foil, and you get a bit of yolk with every mouthful. It’s easy to avoid getting sticky, and you don’t have to finish it all at once. Overall it’s a very well thought out peice of Candy, I approve. HOWEVER, I can’t help feeling a slight sense of dissapointment that it’s not.. well.. egg shaped. I like the hard work, the foil, and the stickyness. A creme egg is more of a KAPOW, whereas a Twisted is, well, a candy bar. A very nice one, but, it’s kind of like comparing ashot of Tequila (salt and lemon) with, say, a jack and coke. Generally the unpleasant bits of Tequila are tolerated for the KAPOW. And it’s legendary, like the creme egg: songs have been written to it’s greatness.

Rated: 8/10

This was mostly inspired by a recently discovered website. P and I recenlty spent an evening dicussing biscuits at length, in depth. I took great pride and joy telling him about the Squiggle biscuit, which hails from NZ.

http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/

So I should probably tell you what else happened in Dublin. Well, we were there for 5 days, and for the first fewdays.. really, you don’t want to know. As I’ve said, it resulted in my ankle getting killed, it’s since a bit better, I can certainly walk on it, it’s just a bit fat.  Later days, We went to  Kilmarnock Gaol, which was super, we went twice There was a lovely Irish man with a wonderful voice. K and I were overwhelmed by the magic of that man. This made me somewhat determined to go to a pub and find an Irish, and talk to it. Oh, the accent!

Of course, we went to Temple Bar, and the Castle, which echos your belches. That kept us amused for a while. It’s pure genius we didn’t murder each other. I threw a tantrum once or twice at the cold wind, and demoted P from map-reading, declaring him unfit if he couldn’t navigate with a RIVER next to him. We got K’s visa back, which was the primary reason for our visit, so that’s good. The whole thing was massively expensive, but meh. We made many friends, I mostly stayed out of danger, and best of all, I can remember most of it. Well, I think so. I can’t remember.

But by far the best part: coming home, to this fair City. Once off the plane, with our feet planted on Scottish soil once again, we found our bus, our friendly helpful busdriver whacking his ticket machinery and pushing the buttons, encouraged by us. Once it was deemed he’d made a good attempt to fix the broken, he waved us on without paying. Ah, Glesga, I missed you. Lovely Glasgow where everyone walks into each other (Glaswegians, for some reason, have this very irritating but slightly charming habit of not looking where they’re walking, causing collisions and impromptu dances and sudden braking, like thousands of toddlers), and people ignore the green/red man at traffic lights and it still works (nearly got run over in Dublin for the same thing), and where the slang is so thick it’s like another language (try terry Pratchet’s ‘The Wee Free Men’ which will give you a mild taste) and to the beautiful light. It was all the more sweeter for realising that, actually, Glasgow does feel like home now. Home away from home, which I haven’t had since Awaroa. It’s a nice feeling Friends, places to hang out, work. Money, and my own space, and consistency. Mmm

Still can’t get used to homeless people. If I’m alone (my friends don’t let me) I sometimes give them my change, but it doesn’t help, I still feel guilty, and feel like bad karma just heaps on every time I walk past.

Moving on..The coolest thing happened to me today!

I’d just gotten off the subway, about 6.30pm, after a very long shift working with a woman who asked me to ‘git doon tay shop flo’ n get t’ messages’ – which is apparently ‘would you do the shopping’

messages: shopping?

Anyway, my head was done in a little, I was nearing the end of my walk home and my dindins and shower and book beckoned me. A folded ten pound bill fluttered to the ground in front of me, and I picked it up and spotted it’s owner, a young ‘ned’, scottish equivalent of a chav, and his pal. I tapped his shell-suited shoulder, and handed it back to him. The pure shock and delight on their faces was great. ‘What’d you do that for! Any normal person’d just keep it!’ (note: when Neds talk, it is with much slang, and also a distinctive nasal squeak, trademark of a Ned. Too much effort to try and type the strange words they use though) I shrugged, and said ‘I’m foreign.’
They continued to look delighted, guffawing to each other, and then his friend squeaked: ‘It’s not about being foreign! It’s about what’s in here!’ with great enthusiasm and a thump to the chest. I thanked them, and grinned all the way home. (People I passed caught it and started smiling too, I love it when that happens) I may just possibly have screwed over the rules to some young Ned’s world.

Well after all that fuss about whether to go to Of Montreal  or Bloc Party, i went to neither- After eventually deciding on Of Montreal, K decided she was going to a Viking Fire Festival in Shetland then, so I would have to go ALONE (noone else was willing, Of Montreal are a bit weird) and after finally deciding I COULD go to a bar alone, (very frightening, esp as it would bw filled with Indie kids and their fringes) I went to buy the ticket, and there were none left However about a week ago I went to the Buzzcocks (free tickets, via my sweet hookups) which was hilarious, many many aging punk rockers moshing and generally rocking out, balding, fat and all. The actual band was well worth seeing, too.

Well I’ve run out of net time.. over and out