Nothing less important to share this Good Friday lunchtime than an international conspiracy that I am right at the centre of and note that I have less than 48 hours to get this sorted. So syringe your ears, put your specs on and pluck away any stray nasal hairs that could prove detrimental in the olfactory department because what I'm talking about today is something that deserves the attention of all your senses.
Look, I'm not even an NLP practitioner yet all my senses are tingling as I gaze upon its loveliness:
- I see that perfect chocolate orb, that symmetrical orange ball of loveliness; its curves in all the right places
- I feel the weight of that silky chocolate sphere that begs to be enclosed in the palm of my hand. We were made for each other, surely
- I hear the muted sound as I unwrap its protective foil and the sudden thud as it hits the table as I attempt to cleanly separate the segments
- I smell its tart orangeness mingling with the warmth of the cocoa beans
- And I say... Terrys Chocolate Oranges - Are they for life or just for Christmas?
Because I don't really go in for Easter eggs, me, but this year, having dramatically reduced my chocolate intake in recent weeks, I decided that I would give myself a treat on Sunday. And when I thought about it, I realised there was only one thing I wanted.
A Terry's Chocolate Orange.
So I popped out shopping yesterday to make sure I had a couple of Eggs for My Boy on Easter Sunday and decided to get myself a TCO. Up aisle and round carousel I went but could I find one? The answer begins with N and ends with a hissy fit.
Doggedly I ran the gauntlet of the Easter shoppers, most of whom had carts heaving with booze, because in Ireland you know, the pubs shut for one entire complete 24 hour day on Good Friday and some people think they might die without the security of 3 dozen cans of Bud
and a bottle of rough whiskey.
I mean - how ridiculous? Anyone knows that the only thing you can die of is the lack of a Chocolate Orange.