Not a Fan(tale)

 I do like to share on my blog, but lately I've had to deal with some shit that is probably best not shared for politic reasons, and because it might just turn around to take a great big chomp out of my arse, so I won't talk about the narcissistic embittered shit stain who did my head in recently and gave me cause to drive my family mad with my complaining. My goodness, that's a long sentence. It's not up there with the opening to Tale of Two Cities, but it certainly is lengthy. 

Different things have caught my attention lately. I live in the Upper Hunter Valley, which was the scene of a catastrophic bus crash on the Sunday of the King's Birthday Weekend. My son and I had travelled that road earlier in the day, after attending a Neil Diamond tribute show in Cessnock. We had a lovely day out, enjoying lunch at the pub next door with a schoolfriend of mine, before going in and rocking out to Crunchy Granola Suite. Well, my friend and I rocked out to Crunchy Granola Suite; I daresay my son was wishing we were at the Queen tribute show and wondering if attending Neil Diamond shows with his mother and her friend rendered him some kind of whack loser (or whatever terminology is bandied by the young folk nowadays). But like just about everyone else in this district, that crash left me saddened and horrified.

On a lighter note, or a heavier one depending upon the strength of one's sweet tooth, I read the news Allens have discontinued the Fantales. This will no doubt lead to gnashing of teeth (those still not destroyed by over-indulgence in the lollies) and beating of the chests. Allens, why discontinue the Fantales? We understood when you discontinued the Bananas. How long did it take you to realise that people aren't generally over-enamoured with a confection that is reminiscent of chalk flavoured with monkey barf? 

Your press release has reassured us that you're still making Snakes Alive, Party Mix, and Minties. Now, about those Minties: they're HORRID! Eating (or labouring through) a Mintie is like eating a wad of tar mixed with superglue and flavoured with a globule of toothpaste. You've probably never heard the consumers express their distaste for this execrable confection because it's hard to bitch when your teeth have been cemented shut by a blob of Mintie, the removal of which carried the risk of molar extraction. 

I liked the Fantales and I liked reading the wrappers. My night is hardly ruined by this news, but it's certainly bummed me out somewhat.