I'm rather partial to anything that contains peanuts, such as Cadbury Star Bar, Reece's, Peanut M&Ms. Although my taste for all things nutty does not extend to hazelnut flavour praline....I hate, hate, hate it! The Ambassador would certainly not be spoiling me with his tray of Ferrero Rocher. I would tell him to take his tray of cheap confectionery and fuck off and get me something more dignified, preferably something dark from Montezuma's or Hotel Chocolat.
Why don't they utilise the benefits of more tasty nuts, such as pecans, macadamias, walnuts and almonds. I know there is almond in praline, but its gentle feminine sweetness is trampled on by the aggressive male flavour of the hazelnut. Yes, I believe flavours can be either masculine or feminine. But, wouldn't that be lovely, a Reece's Cup with a pecan or walnut filling, instead of peanut. Hmmm.
Anyway, a chocolate bar played a pivotal role in my burgeoning sexuality at the age of 16. I know what you're thinking and all I can say is don't be so dirty minded! It was in fact a Kit Kat, or rather a bumper pack of Kit Kats. Of the four fingered variety, in case you're curious.
When I was 16 I had a Saturday job at Iceland freezer stores. The stories I could write about that place would fill a book, such as the man who came in and pretended he was blind and who used to gurn at the end of the till. Or the couple that believed that if you scanned an item then it contaminated the food. Never mind that the food they were buying was the worst kind of frozen processed crap that Iceland specialised in. This meant that you had to type in the bar code for absolutely every item that went through the till and if, God forbid, you accidentally scanned something, then the husband sent his wife off to change it with the snap of his fingers. A charming man.
Anyway, whilst I worked in Iceland, a friend from sixth form college worked in a shop down the road. Not that I admitted it at the time, but I clearly had the biggest crush on this girl and when she told me that she loved Kit Kats, as a hidden declaration of my affection I bought her the biggest bumper pack of Kits Kats you will ever see with my Iceland staff discount card and presented it to her during her Saturday lunch break. I think it was that evening that I finally admitted to myself that I was gay. Would I ever declare my love with Kit Kats for a boy, would I hell!
Anyway, the crush disappeared over time when I realised that my friend was impossibly straight and clearly more attracted to boys with long hair who modelled themselves on Rob Newman, someone who straight girls
in the early 90s went inexplicably doo lally over. So I transferred my affections to my celebrity crushes of Kim Wilde and Belinda Carlisle (equally unobtainable, but at least I didn't have to buy them Kit Kats) and started dipping my toes in the London gay scene with my friend Holly.
Now these first forays on to the London gay scene are whole other story, but I will finish by telling you how Holly and I decided to take those first steps on the scene. We identified place to go to by the fact that it welcomed 'gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transsexuals, transvestites, straights and theatrical friends'. Not wanting to admit our true nature, Holly and I both surmised we were indeed 'theatrical friends' and that was a good enough reason to go. I mean we were studying A-Level Theatre Studies, and if that didn't make theatrical, I don't know what did. Don't you just love the power of a euphemism?
Out of interest, Holly is now happily married in New Zealand....to her lovely wife Sara.
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