Don't read anything into this... okay?

In my warped way I got to thinking...

there are only two types of people...

those who like Ferrero Rocher

and those who don't!

I ought to declare myself here, and say I do and I don't!

Let me explain.

Back in the dark days of dairy farming,

Christmas 1990 to be exact.

I had not long since lost my dad

(hate that expression, it makes it sound like I'd mislaid him somewhere, 

when in fact he had recently died.)

Only child in mourning; up to her eyes in cow shit...

you get the picture?

Christmas as always, was at ours; it made sense, when cows and muck, have to be

dealt with twice a day, 365 days a year.

Dad's lady-friend and her daughter were visiting.

Husband's father and brother were also coming for Christmas lunch;  
with a grand flourish they presented Margaret and Hilary with...
Yes, you've guessed it a box of...

 Smiles all round; they were accepted with gracious charm.

Only after they'd left to milk their cows, did the intellectual talons show...
Sniff...
'There's only one box of Ferrero Rocher in the entire world
and everybody, but everybody moves it on!'

If I hadn't been so sad, I'd have smiled.

I've never forgotten it.

It's become a standing joke now.
Must confess I wouldn't buy them, much preferring up-market
chocolate tempered on the warmth of a young man's thighs;
however when push comes to shove, in these straightened times
I will trough a box, with the best of them, or
in Marg and Hilary's book...
the worst of them!