Friday Fictioneers: Biscuit Famine

Dear Rochelle Its been a pretty grim and busy time of late, looking after my Poppity Pop (Dad) and so i’ve had to sneak a quick 5 minutes here and there where I can, apologies to all involved, most of all my adoring fans, of which there may well be enough to count on one hand! Chers to Ted Strutz for the photo, looks pretty Wildernaic (made that up and no one can take it away form me) So with an idea already there, a tired head and half a glass of beer left i’ll crack on…

On My Marks…

Get Set…


The contents of the shelves in Tescos were dwindling day by day, hour by hour. Ginger Nuts, Monster Munch and Bourbons had been replaced by Garibaldi, Own Brand Prawn Cocktail Shells and Pink Wafers for fucks sake.

It was time for Action. Begrudgingly the crisp companies and biscuit bakers were ceasing production haemorrhaging money while they designed and manufactured recyclable packets, it seemed right what with COP 26 and everything.

But in the meantime there were no fucking crisps.

So Sid set off in his dinghy with a road atlas of the British-Isles to locate the Savoury Isles of the North

There we are 100 words on how Brexit and Global warming had benefitted our nation



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