Digestive biscuits are not sexy.

As the name of my blog suggests, I'm not much of a fan of this being a grown-up marlarky. You know, the bill paying, the responsibility of housework, the fact that you can't just get your best mate to pop on over to your now ex-husband and tell him "You're dumped"...although thinking about it, she probably would have been more than happy to oblige, but no, you have to go through the courts and everything! However, I digress. As I was saying, being an adult is quite poo, but ever the optimist, I do like to seek out the good things and one of those 'good things', is the fact that I get to choose which biscuits go in to my biscuit barrel! There are no dull Rich Tea, Malted Milk (although attempting to nibble around the cow and see if I can leave it in tact until the end is a fun way to waste a couple of minutes) or generic custard creams. Oh no! My barrel is a veritable feast of indulgent biccies, lovingly slathered in thick chocolate, extra chunky choc chip cookies and other such teatime treats, that once upon a time, were the fare of birthday teas, pastel coloured party rings, marshmallow teacakes and sticky Lemon Puffs. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against plain biscuits per se, but they are just so...fuctional! In the early days of me and the boyfriend, AKA Mr Wolf, during one of our laying-in-bed-getting-to-know-you conversations (also known as, we-need-to-stop-shagging-for-just-one-moment-cos-I-have-friction-burns-on-my-naughty-bits), we were discussing which biscuit you would choose if you could only have one biscuit for the rest of your life...EVER!!! (Yep, three explanation marks, it was THAT serious.) And he said, "A Digestive"...A Digestive? A Digestive! A Digestive is not a biscuit, it is a transporter of more interesting things to your mouth. A sort of sedan chair of the cheese world. His choice was almost a deal breaker, but thankfully, our downstairs party parts had finished smoking and I was distracted once again by some more horizontal dancing. My desire for a fancy-filled barrel, stems from my childhood. I cannot deny, my mother always has a well stocked cake tin, but the biscuit barrel is still as dull as on over-washed tea towel on a rainy Wednesday, as it was when we were kids. Her reasoning behind it is, that if the contents are boring, my dad won't scoff them down as quickly...which goes against everything that a biscuit barrel should be! When I delve into the biscuit tin, I want to be indulged, I want to enjoy that messy moment of dunking a choccie-clad cookie, into my hot beverage, childishly licking the molten coating off, slurping my fingers clean and then promptly diving in for another one! But, I am left with one question, is there a place for the Jaffa Cake in the biscuit barrel? Or, is it forever destined to be the duckbilled platypus of the baked goods world? Neither here nor there and leaving zoo keepers flummoxed as to where to place it on the zoo map...that's the platypus, not the Jaffa Cake. A pet Jaffa Cake wouldn't last very long in our house and as far as I am aware, eating ones pets is not approved of.