Quavers
.... The pastry was cooling on the window-sill. Aunt Microphone was peacefully napping in the lounge as I ate Duplo bricks one after the other. I found the red ones tastiest, but if I'm honest I'd quite happily eat the yellows and greens just as easily.

Fast forward three months and I found myself on a quiet country road. Eagles were gathering on bungalow roofs and I had a spot of indigestion. This was due to Quavers.
I heard a tutting sound beneath me and I looked down to see what it was. It was that pesky owl again. "what the hell are you doing down there?" I demanded. But before he could reply I shook my head and answered my own question "don't tell me - you're welding again aren't you!?". The owl looked sheepish and hid his blowtorch behind his back "..... erm... no". He muttered unconvincingly.

I scratched my arse and this caused something akin to a 'butterfly effect' making me vomit instantly - all over the owl. Poor sod just sat there and cried. He was lucky though, the vomit was comprised almost entirely of Quavers, so he got off lightly. Imagine if I'd been eating lampshades.

They're not your usual crisps, Quavers. You wouldn't put them in the same category as a Pringle.... or a Mcoy's, but nevertheless I think they deserve their place in crisp history.

Quavers.
(Andrew Avetoom, Thu 19 Apr 2007, 14:08, Reply)