Twiglets. Why?

   I must confess to being a fussy eater. When I was a kid I worked out that if I flat-out refused to eat stuff I hated then eventually people would take the hint and stop trying to make me eat it.

 Having said that, my palate has expanded over the years to include many things I formerly shunned.

Once upon a time I feared mayonnaise. Now I've come to appreciate the way it complements chips.

 And the first time anybody invited me to try a Doner Kebab I remember thinking "It's grey, it's greasy, I don't know what it's made of and I can smell it from across the room. Why are you asking me to eat chemical waste?"
  Whereas nowadays I walk into my local kebab shop and they just say "The usual?"

 There are, however, a few things I will never, ever touch so long as I have working tastebuds and full control over my own limbs. Here's one of them.

 For those of you wondering why I'm showing you a pile of sticks, these are called "Twiglets" and for reasons I've never understood, in the UK they are compulsory at every social event or party.
 Naturally you see Twiglets a lot around Christmas time..

 They are also the very last things remaining on the table. Even the weird sandwiches that look like somebody vomited between two triangles of bread will get eaten but not the Twiglets, oh no. When it comes time to clear up, there'll always be a plate of of sodding Twiglets left.

  "But what do they taste like?" you ask. I'll tell you.

Twiglets taste like flakes of overcooked pizza crust dipped in Marmite.  Only worse.

I am fairly confident that I could replicate the taste of a Twiglet by letting a Cheeto go stale then carrying it around between the cheeks of my arse for a week and a half. In summer. And not showering the whole time.

 They really are ghastly and you cannot convince me that any sane Englishman eats them for pleasure. When was the last time you saw somebody on a train eating a packet of Twiglets? What does that tell you.

I have a theory that hosts put Twiglets on the table only to make the rest of the spread look more appealing in comparison. "Don't like the sausage rolls?  Here, have a Twiglet...No? The Iceland sausage rolls are suddenly looking a lot more appealing now, aren't they, dickhead?"

The only other explanation is some weird desire to atone for the sins of the past year. "Say ten Hail Marys...eat a dozen Twiglets... now go home and stop touching yourself in the bath."

People of Britain! 

Stop doing this to ourselves. 

Say no to the tiny brown sticks of nastiness. 

Life is too short to eat things that taste of dog rectums.  

Sprouts can bollocks too. 

That's all folks.


This post was inspired by a semi-drunk conversation with my brother.
Cheers Bro!