I like a short crust mince pie from Aulds as much as the next man. It's one of the things that makes Christmas special for me. Forget your yule log; your virgin birth; your chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Give me a pastry case and a dainty little star topping, pressed at a jaunty angle into Mr Aulds finest moist and oh-so-lovingly spiced mincemeat, and it's enough to make me want to don my tophat, buy the largest turkey in Sainsbury's and set off on a trip to find an impoverished clerk and his crippled son.
But imagine how my Christmas spirit was dashed to discover that the price of this little morcel of yuletide cheer has soared to 66p!
66p! It bears repeating. How Mr Auld must laugh as he lights his Havannah cigars with ten pund notes from the comfort of his li lo on the private island.
I bought three today - thinking my happiness could be spread to my fellow solicitors - little cake shaped beacons - reminders of all that's good in the world to brighten up our honest day's toil.
How my happiness turned sour as I receive 2p change from my two pound coin.
Tomorrow I shall return to the honest wholesomeness of the buttered crumpet. I shall thumb my nose at the seasonal usurper of the cake stand. Fie to your Christmas Pies - they are nothing bu expensive tarts, luring hard-earned cash from men. But they are fickle. Come January, they will be gone.
The solid buttered crumpet will never let you down.
Nightcap
15 years ago
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