2.30pm on a Friday afternoon is a funny time. You can hear the pub calling but are trapped in the realization that you still have five hours work to do in three. You need crisps. I sauntered off into the kitchen laughing at Geoff Boycott banging on about his stick of rhubarb on TMS, wondering if his mum could, actually, make a better fist of batting that Johnny Bairstow.
Rustling around in the boy’s packed lunch area, I found a packet of Seabrook sea salt flavour, hidden underneath some bagels. “The bastards,” I thought, “they’ve hidden them from me on purpose.” Not that I blame them mind, I’m a crisp heathen, especially ready salted.
Seabrook, what a crisp you are. Opening the packet I got more excited than a man of 35 should over some thinly sliced and cooked potatoes. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a packet of Seabrook, it could’ve been as long ago as school. As the first one hit my tongue it all came flooding back, why I’d looked at Walkers with disdain for years only for the passage of time to make me forget.
Salty, a touch greasy, but with a real depth to the flavour. You can keep your fancy Tyrrell’s and stick your Kettle Chips up your arse, I am from this day forward a Seabrook man. Now I need to find myself a packet of Beefy without going on the website. That could be the end of me.