Already those three short words may have stirred controversy. A biscuit? A cake? Confectionery even? I can accept an argument that they straddle they mid-land between a biscuit and a chocolate bar but being as they don’t possess one of the key determinants of chocolate bars, ie being wrapped individually, I hope they’ll be afforded the same latitude as a striker through on goal who’s level (rather than behind) the last defender. Perhaps this can pride an element of case law? The case of Diacono Wagon Wheel v The World established the principle of ‘Biscuit until proven guilty’.
The wagon wheel.
Once one of the cornerstones by which I defined myself. Approaching my teens I could fit a whole one in my mouth. Not only that, I could remove it again intact without the use of fingers, just by a form of gurning. In much the same way as anyone who does something slightly unusual becomes known forever (or at least the rest of that month) by that uncommon ability, I became the Wagon Wheel Boy. Ergo, I loved Wagon Wheels all the more.
I was in the habit of watching the Monday night 9.25 BBC1 film every week with my dad. By such means I learnt all a man needs to know about the power of the fairer sex from that scene in Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. I also recognised that cowboys were magic. And having a wagon wheel-related speciality somehow imbued me with something of the ‘cowboy’.
Like puberty, the change seemed to come overnight. Suddenly everyone could do it. Did they sneakily reduce the size without telling anyone? I never knew, but one thing was for sure – I was no longer alone with my gift. Everyone could do it. Once more I became unspectacular, regular and unremarkable. I miss you Wagon Wheel for you gave me fleeting greatness.