Six shit biscuits only grandparents think are a treat

WHY did your grandparents make you eat fig rolls when Party Rings were available? Did they realise rationing had ended when they bought these? 

Fig rolls

The fig roll is a repulsive combination of textures. Both dry and rubbery, it’s like eating a slug packed in sand. Nor does the taste compensate as it contains barely a hint of sugar. What does your nan think she’s doing when there are chocolate Hobnobs right there on the Tesco shelf next to them?

Rich tea

The most boring biscuit conceivable. So boring you nod off lifting it from plate to mouth. Very marginally improved if dipped in tea, but highly likely to fall in and ruin your cuppa with sludge, which is worse than just being dull.

Malted milks

Your heart sinks when Granddad opens the biscuit tin and it’s full of malted milks. They’re not even that offensive – there’s a picture of a cow on them, they’re dusted with sugar – they’re just bland, beige rectangles of meh. Which you stuff down nine in a row of to be polite.

Plain digestive

A plain digestive is not so much a biscuit as a wasted opportunity. Milk chocolate ones are way better, and dark chocolate ones are even better than that. We have one precious life – and your grandparents are in the twilight of theirs – why waste it eating plain digestives? Why?

Nice biscuits

Insipid, twee and inocuous, like their name. Or is it pronounced ‘Neece’, like the French city? No-one’s ever cared enough to find out. They’re too busy hating these thin, weak little biscuits that taste of nothing in the mouth then inexplicably leave an unpleasant lingering hint of coconut.


Honestly, what the f**k? Tiny, hard, bitter little raisins sandwiched between two thin, dry bits of biscuit do not make a tasty treat. Your grandparents love them because they remind them of the good old days, in the same way they enjoy other outdated bollocks from the past like Spam and racism.

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Email hoping to find woman well finds her extremely f**ked off

AN email’s hopes to find its recepient well have been cruelly dashed by her foul f**king mood. 

Office manager Emma Bradford, who had already been sandwiched between two groins on the Northern line and dealt with a server outage before reaching her desk, opened the email with no sense of wellness or radiant joy.

She said: “I suppose it’s lovely the email has hope, because it’s been crushed right the f**k out of me.

“You ‘hope I’m well’ but you’re not really interested, are you? Bet you’re not keen to hear about my nasty little flare-up of thrush.

“We all know you want something otherwise you wouldn’t be emailing. No-one in the history of the internet has ever emailed a work contact just to see if they’re finding these November mornings a bit gloomy.

“Older colleagues sending one-word replies used to annoy me, but now I understand. They’ve been hoped to have been found well one too many times and they’re dead inside. Well-wishing is simple sadism.

“In the end I replied ‘All great here thanks, hope you too E x’. Confident the twat that sent it knows I want to see him die a slow, painful death.”