• The Tenuous Purpose

    This Blog is built - not, as some might expect, on a flimsy whim but on a strong and single minded principle.

    That principle concerns Biscuits and their position in the world.

    We are really very keen on biscuits.
    As are many of you out there.
    We think.

    We wish to create an archive of Arrowroot, a backlog of Bourbons and a catalogue of Chocolate Fingers. Anybody can contribute an entry - or dispute somebody else's - provided they are not dull.
    Even Americans who perhaps don't really have the heritage of biscuitry that we are fortunate to have here.

    Or maybe they do and we are unaware of the full glory of the cookie.

    We realise that this whole subject is admirably and concisely dealt with by that excellent and unbeatable website A Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down. Our feeble efforts will be as the kicking of a gadfly in the face of their wisdom and experience but we hope that we may have a small contribution to make.

  • Biscuit Encounters on Twitter

  • The Synod of Biscuitry

    James Alexander-Sinclair of Blackpitts
    Gardener, Blogger, Journalist, Lecturer etc, etc. Much of his life is spent loafing around other people’s gardens issuing directives and generally cluttering up the place. However, like the great Mr Kipling, he does (occasionally) make exceptionally good gardens. (Although even Mr Kipling messed up a bit with the Carrot and Walnut Mini Classics.)

    Mark Diacono of Otter Farm
    He does sterling work growing many inappropriate plants in Devon. He dedicates a great deal of time and effort nurturing a plethora of plants that are (mostly) totally unsuited to our climate. His is a life of such extreme eccentric dedication that to start a Blog about Biscuits seems perfectly normal. He treads gently in the footsteps of people like the great William Buckland,a professor of Geology who claimed that he could tell location by tasting the local topsoil.

I Only Joined For The Biscuits

So I there I was, innocently minding my own business, secretly yearning for a chocolate digestive, but hoping not to have to make the tea. It was nearly tea-time. Well it was some while since lunch, anyway. I hadn’t broken anything for an hour or two, I’d ripped up a bit of bindweed in the corner, moved some stuff about in the shed, picked a few raspberries. I deserved, at least from my point of view, a biscuit.

She comes to the door of the shed. She puts her fork down, wipes her slightly sweaty brow with a muddy glove and she tells me her idea.

“Why don’t you do the compost heaps?”

I reply: “Do you want a biscuit?”

Her: “No, I mean, why don’t you take charge of doing the compost? It could be your job.”

Me: “What about a cup of tea, AND a biscuit?”

Her: “You just need to clear that corner, the other side of the bin. Then you could build another heap. Or make a new bin. You know, if you were my compost steward, it would really help. What do you think?”

I thought: “I want a biscuit.” But I didn’t say it.

This conversation wasn’t going well. Apart from the obvious fact that she was trying to get me to do some work, I mean some actual WORK, on the allotment, which was in my opinion a clear breach of our agreement, it was also obvious that she wasn’t interested in a cup or tea, or a biscuit.

Recklessly, and in the interests of creating goodwill, purely as a precursor to creating the circumstances for moving the subject closer to farinaceous products, you understand, I said: “Er, well…, um, I suppose I could, maybe.”

She said: “Great. It’ll be great. We can do it together. You do the compost, I’ll do the rest. I’ll help you with the rest.” There was silence. Or at least silence apart from the sound of goalposts being torn out of the ground and moved several yards to the side.

She went on: “Otherwise, you know, I don’t think I can…we might have to…it just takes too long all on your own… and you’re the one who wants to keep the allotment and…”

That was a series of unfinished sentences which added up to her saying this: “I’m too busy to keep this allotment going on my own. You are the one who likes coming down here and sitting on your fat arse eating biscuits. If you want to keep it going. Pull. Your. Bloody. Finger. Out.

“Digestive?” I said, proffering her the packet.

George Hicks

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5 Responses

  1. But tea breaks and biscuits are a vital part of allotmenteering! It’s Allotment 101 – have the sustaining beverages and fod stuffs to hand at all times, they are as important as any other tool in our sheds!

  2. Scoffing biscuits on the lottie is fine as long as you do some WORK as well.
    Biscuits never keep for long in our shed – my friend who comes to make tea in my shed eats them all, then feels guilty, buys some more and eats those as well. I like her, so that’s OK.
    I am left with cuppa soup…

  3. 100 points awarded for using the word ‘farinaceous’ in a blog post.

  4. I love Biscuit posts which include dialogue.
    The next step will be a Biscuit play: maybe just One Act to begin with progressing to a full Three Acter with two intervals.
    Pity I didn’t think of it before Harold Pinter died.
    I wonder which Biscuit is the most Pinteresque?
    Something quite mundane, perhaps, but yet meaningful…
    maybe………… (pause)………………. a chocolate finger

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