mostly david ephgrave

Today, I witnessed someone buy a Bounty by choice. It happened whilst I was standing in the queue at my local garage - which is stocked with pretty much every well-known confectionary you could think of, yet despite being spoilt for options, the woman behind me still told her friend she wanted a Bounty. I never knew such a thing was possible. I thought they were only ever eaten by those faced with slim pickings after sifting through boxes of Celebrations at Christmas. Yet here was a woman who would most likely have eaten the Bounties first; she must be a sadist. I mean, let's not beat around the bush: Bountys are fucking horrible; in fact they're the Devil's chocolate. Eating one's akin to biting into a bar of soap. Up until now, the only person I've ever known to enjoy one is my dad, which is why I'll usually foist upon him the aforementioned Christmas treat dregs, and it's possible he only eats them out of politeness. The woman in the garage, howev...

I'm currently faced with the challenge of not opening the pack of Mini Eggs in my bag, because I said I'd share them with my wife when I get home from tonight's gig. ‎ I don't have to wait too long. I'm on the 21:23 fast train from King's Cross to Hitchin, and have about half an hour's walk home when I get off it. Either that, or a five minute taxi ride if I crack (egg pun) and decide I can't hold out until then. I went into WHSmith at the station with the intention of buying a treat for the journey back, then decided it would be better to be more husbandly. This was my first mistake. When it comes to treats, the banana in my bag doesn't cut it. I need a sugar rush and quick. The gig was good. It was a variety night, which can be difficult for stand-up, but this wasn't a problem tonight. The audience were pleasant. I also got to have a chat with the character comic Alison Thea-Skot, which was nice, as while we were aware of each other - partl...

Every evening this week, at exactly the same time, I’ve gone to my local shop to buy a pack of Cadbury’s Giant Buttons. It’s felt like a cry for help. I’ve been served by the same guy each time. He must have noticed. Perhaps he's labelled me ‘The Button Man’ in his head. It’s as if he’s complicit in my secret, chocolatey shame. What makes it worse is it’s quite a big bag, containing more Buttons than you should eat in one sitting. If I keep to this one-pack-per-evening schedule I’ll eventually have to be lifted out of my house with a special type of winch. I mustn’t let things get that bad. The time has come to exercise some self-restraint. Still, at least they've kept me off the heroin.