It is the custom at Pedantic to bring back treats whenever one of us ventures overseas. I brought back aniseed biscotti from Brazil, formerly enjoyed with a cup of coffee taken on the terrace beside the pool (though they didn't taste quite so delicious with a mug of decaf taken in front of my computer). Irina brought back Ghirardelli chocolate from California where she was visiting her sister, Fran came back from her sabbatical in the New York office with Reese's Peanut Butter Pieces and Oreos, and Ms Rights brought in a box of Jelly Beans from her sojourn in Miami.
The Jelly Beans looked particularly pretty, separated into their individual compartments like beads in one of those stores I had to trail round when my daughters were obsessed with making necklaces (instead of simply stealing mine), their flavours helpfully mapped out on the inside of the lid.
'I warn you, the buttered popcorn is pretty heinous,' she added, helpfully as she placed them in the usual place.
There was an immediate rush for the buttered popcorn which was universally pronounced as 'not that bad'.
I had a lemon and lime which was pleasantly citric, somewhat like toilet cleaner with sugar, and then a juicy pear which was so vile I immediately spat it out.
'My lord, that's like something from Shrek - it tastes like pond slime mixed with a bluebottle.'
'Try the toasted marshmallow, that's absolutely disgusting,' said Mathilda.
We agreed to swap flavours and like two duellers we lined up opposite each other, did a countdown and popped our respective jelly beans into our mouths.
I didn't think the toasted marshmallow was too awful. 'Are you mad. It's like eating fabric conditioner. But there's nothing wrong with the juicy pear. It does taste like pears.' Mathilda pronounced.
Yep, rancid pears with strychnine jelly.
There's obviously something seriously wrong with her tastebuds, and I remind myself never to go to her house for dinner.
I would have told her but she had fallen back on her chair and was having what looked like an epileptic fit whilst clutching her throat and yelling 'yuck, strawberry daiquiri!'
Another of the office Indians recoiled over the chocolate pudding, while Lyns in accounts thought they are all 'lovely', especially the cinnamon.
Unwisely, I tried the watermelon and thought I had been poisoned.
MD announced that they were delicious as he walked past with a handful even though I warned him that it was like playing Russian roulette with Jelly Beans.
There's just no accounting for taste. Or lack of it.
However, now that we have shown ourselves to have the palate of a hungover Alsatian, the everyone feels free to unleash upon the office all their unwanted Christmas larder gifts. It can only be a matter of time before the fruit cakes start to arrive.
And sure enough in Mr T's out-tray this morning I found a box of day-glo RNLI jelly lifeboats with a big sign stuck on the front, saying 'Please Share'.
'I would never have dared to bring them in until I saw these,' he said grimacing, picking our a Root Beer (engine oil with vinegar - this froom a man who announced that the cake I made for a leaving do looking like sick), and this morning when I came into the office all the little compartments in the Jelly Bean box were empty. As was the Tin of Hershey Kisses from Ubereditor's trip to New York and all the jelly lifeboats.
Actually, I liked those. Particularly the orange ones.
