I had half a post assembled before the virus hit.* This is it, sorry:
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Better than a slap in the la-las with an antique mangle:
Is it not?
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HobNobs—especially the milk chocolate ones—are, in my experienced opinion, the best cookie/biscuit ever.
They’re like oat-based granola that has been crushed up fine, rolled out thin, baked, and then dipped gently in chocolate. There’s nothing like them.
To be more specific, there’s nothing like them here.** Not without one heck of a drive and/or hellacious shipping fees. So I get to renew my glowing opinion about them only once every few years at best***
Until I can get to the UK—or Canda, does Canada have these?—I suppose I’ll have to make do with my MIL’s homemade Snickerdoodles.
It’s a rough life I lead . . .
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Through a set of circumstances I can’t explain, I discovered and became a huge fan of Joyce Grenfell, who does, or did, one woman comedy pieces that are just wonderful, mostly because the characters seem so familiar:
Her “Eng Lit” sketch, about a writer of a certain age, was the first one I saw and I can recommend her “Nursery School” series to anyone who has ever taught, been owned by, or encountered small children in a group.
But this one had me wiping away tears and stifling giggles. It’s a bit long and the quality isn’t the best, but it’s completely worth it:
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* The clinic said it wasn’t pneumonia, just a nasty attack that should clear up soon with some OTC and REST. They were worried about my blood pressure, though—it was absolutely normal, but it took three nurses six cumulative tries to find evidence of it, beyond the current medical theory that I was alive and so must have one somewhere. It didn’t occur to any of us until the fifth try that they were all using the same stethoscope . . .
**My husband found these Nature Valley Squares things that might seem close. But they aren’t. They’re square. And too thick. And the chocolate isn’t right. I’ll eat them, but I won’t do the Happy HobNob dance while I do.
***My lovely friend Downith sent me some as a surprise about a year ago (I think). They were wonderful—I made them last two weeks—but I don’t even want to think of the postage.
Earful of Cider 