More than half of all Britons have been injured by biscuits
I particularly like the story of a man who waded into wet concrete to retrieve a stray biscuit, and got stuck. I am not being entirely tongue in check when I say that I find this a rather moving testimonial to the power of the human spirit, defiant and persevering in the face of terrible odds, committed beyond rational belief to all that is worth saving, etc. Although it's a pretty dumb thing to do.
So far today I have eaten two date dreams, a florentine, and a gingerbread man (the soft kind, not the dangerous rock hard kind). I am uninjured--for the moment. And mercifully, our holiday assortment includes none of the most deadly cookie of them all--the custard cream.
I'm off now to Barnes and Noble, where I am going to buy:
The Cat's Table, All of My Friends are Dead, Press Here, and the new Oliver Sacks book.
Then I am going to the National Geographic Museum, to see an Anglo Saxon hoard (happily, I've just re-read Coming of the Dragon, by Rebecca Barnhouse).
Then I am going to just be at home, making sure the children don't poke themselves in the eye with sugar cookies, and hoping I don't fall asleep before they do....
I hope that none of you has been injured by cookies this holiday season, and that everything else is conspiring to make things pleasant and happy for you!