I was sitting half-asleep in our kitchen eating my breakfast this morning, when suddenly I realised that this box was on the counter in front of me.
What is the world coming to? Cad an fuck are Pomegranate and Raspberry wheats? (Cad an fuck is a pomegranate, for that matter)?
I wonder is there a department in all the major cereal companies where the staff gather to smoke dope and then see how far can they go before they come up with a flavour the public won’t stomach. Butterscotch and Papaya. Zuccini and Rosehip. Cloudberry and Lasagne.
Perhaps they even make up names to see if we’ll cop-on. “Try our new Cometberry and Pajamafruit Wheats”.
At the risk of sounding all Monty-Python’s-Four-Yorkshiremen-Sketch, ’tis far from pomegranate and raspberry we were reared. When we were kids we walked eleven miles across the fields to school in our bare feet, carrying one sod of turf each for the school fire and another one to eat for our lunch. At school we learned twenty-two subjects, including Latin, Hebrew and Erse, with lessons puncuated every fifteen minutes by a rousing rendition of the National Anthem and yet another brief reminder that the British were bastards who had reduced our fair land to poo. After school we would walk the twelve miles back across the fields (often tilling them as we went) and be served a dinner of boiled vole before heading off to our night-time job in the slurry pit.
And to set ourselves up for this trying (if slightly exaggerated) day we would be given breakfast before we went. In those days there was a choice of just two cereals. By this I mean your mother had a choice of which she put in front of you, not that YOU had a choice in which you got. There was Cornflakes, which tasted like, well, Cornflakes. Everyone knows what they taste like, so there’s little point in comparing them to anything else.
And then, oh God, there was porridge. A cement-like sludge made up of 74% greyness and 26% lumps, this performed the same function for your stomach that foam insulation performs for cavity block walls. You could have got the same effect with a whale-blubber milkshake, and it would probably have tasted better.
And now our kids get Pomegranate and Raspberry Wheats. Meh.
Hang on though. If a bowl of it counts as two of your five daily fruit servings, I might give it a go.
It’d be better than actually having to eat fruit.