The five-fingered Kitkat

After a 5am start this morning, the boss and I have been at a conference in London all day, and I'm writing this from the comfort of the three-hour train journey back home, so clearly I've not been near any supermarkets. So what to write about?

Well ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the five-fingered Kitkat.

(And yes I know it's got nothing to do with the supermarkets, but it's pretty much the only food I've seen all day.)

So the boss and I were sat on the train this morning, frantically annotating our presentation notes, when the refreshments trolly came round, and in a rare fit of gentlemanliness (sadly not replicated later when it came to giving his seat up on the tube) the boss asked if I'd like anything.

"Fancy sharing a Kitkat?" I suggested.

"SHARING?!" the boss (a slightly rotund chocolate fiend) spluttered in reply.

"Yeah but they've got five fingers now," I explained.

Has anyone else noticed this yet? As if we're not fat enough as a nation already, Nestlé have now whacked an extra finger on Kitkats.

Personally this has already caused me no-end of trouble. Kitkats happen to be my driving snack of choice, and I rarely leave a petrol station without one. Four fingers used to be a struggle to manage, and five is simply too much, so I've now taken to eating half, then leaving the other two or three fingers floating around the car for another day.

Hence my car has turned into a melting Kitkat graveyard.

I was driving along the other day when I spotted a familiar brown smear on the dashboard, so without thinking I extended a finger, swiped it up and popped it into my mouth. Unfortunately I forgot that I wasn't alone. The look on the face of my fellow passenger was one of pure disgust, even after I'd explained that the brown smear was chocolate.

And there was an even more embarrassing incident a couple of weeks ago when I inadvertently sat on half a Kitkat (sans wrapping) for the warm hour-long drive to a hospital appointment. I then had to make the agonising decision over whether to leave the brown stain on my bottom (making me look rather more anxious about said appointment than I actually was), or try to sponge it off with a bottle of water and a tissue (making me look like a sufferer of a different kind of incontinence).

So I don't approve of five-fingered Kitkats and I disapproved even more of my bosses decision to buy two rather than one, then devour his in the time it took me to eat a single finger, before proclaiming them the best invention known to man.

On the bright side though, I've just found my remaining three fingers floating about in the bottom of my handbag, and seeing as we're stuck on this train for another two-and-a-half hours I may be making this a five-fingered Kitkat day after all.