dollopy jamsmugglers
The Oreo has landed in Britain. And it is giving rise to a furious Battle of the Biscuits.
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A new TV commercial shows a young boy teaching his scruffy dog how to eat an Oreo: “First you twist it. Then you lick it. Mmm. Then you dunk it,” he says, sploshing his Oreo into a glass of milk. This will be the first time that many Brits have seen a biscuit dipped in milk.
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[Biscuit historian Stuart] Payne’s not convinced that Oreo can take on such a deep-rooted culture in which only the toughest, tea-complementing biscuits survive, in a society where offering someone a plate of Rich Tea, Custard Creams, or Jammie Dodgers is a way of expressing friendship, love, and concern.
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The Biggins Estate, in an idyllic corner of Northamptonshire.
Young Cyril, scampering madly about: Mum! Da! Herbert’s returned!
Lady Biggins: I’ll be scuppered!!
Lord St. Cuppingham, Earl of Things: By Jove, you old gad-about...!!
Deaf Percy the Fish-Staver: Cripes?!?
Herbert: It’s true! I’m back from America. What an interesting place!
Lady Biggins: Do tell us of your adventures!, comprehensively without further delay, distraction, remittance &c.
Damon Alban: But first, as an expression of friendship, love, and concern, do permit us to offer you this plate of Rich Tea and Custard Creams.
Herbert: Well, er…
Deaf Percy the Fish-Staver: Yew blith’rin’ dolt, ‘e don’t want no Rich Tea nor no Custard Creams neither. Boy ‘Erbert’s only ivver supped upon Jammie Dodgers, ‘struth.
Clotilda Gurningwood: Plate o’ Jammie Dodgers, then, luv?
Herbert: That is to say…
Angus of-the-Vale: Marshy Wiggles?
Control: Dollopy Jamsmugglers?
Herbert: I’m terribly sorry, but I eat Oreos now.
The assembled group falls silent.
Herbert: And I—I habitually dip them in milk. If you must know.
Young Cyril: But… But Herbert… I don’t understand.
Young Cyril runs crying to the ball-room.
Sir John Browdie: HOW IN THE BLAZES DO YOU GET A BISCUIT INSIDE A TIN OF MILK
Deaf Percy the Fish-Staver: I saw a bloke on the telly wot fed these O-re-os to a bleedin’ dog! ‘Struth, again.
Lady Biggins: I don’t quite know what to make of you, Herbert.
Herbert: Fetch the milk, Deaf Percy. You all must try this strange and wonderful confection.
Oreos and milk are procured. Hesitantly, the group munches away.
Sir John Browdie: I… I feel odd.
Lady Biggins: Yes, I also am experiencing the strangest sensation.
Angus of-the-Vale: SUDDENLY I FEEL COMPELLED TO PURCHASE A LORRY WOT IS MUCH LARGER THAN ACTUALLY FITS MY REQUIREMENTS AT THE MOMENT
Lord St. Cuppingham, Earl of Things: Yes, by Neptune! Out-sized lorries for the lot of us!
Damon Alban: I find myself feeling great hostility toward Arab-speaking oil-producing nations.
Damon Alban: Great Scott! I have also become slightly more overweight.
Lady Biggins: Darling, I don’t think I shall be attending tonight’s performance of Cymbeline after all—do you think Motley-on-the-Wold might perchance be hosting any events tonight in which lads in cars crash into each other inside a ring? Preferably, some of the cars would spout fire.
Clotilda Gurningwood: Young Cyril, ducky, be a love and switch on all the lights in the house, and transfer the recyclables to the rubbish bin.
Sir John Browdie furtively begins pouring water into his pint of lager.
Deaf Percy the Fish-Staver: Gor! I fink I’ll go visit me a denn-tist.