NAVIGATION

Generally speaking, it is safe to say that Brown sucks. 

As a colour, it is a failure. If it were a person, it would be the last person to be picked in a football match, the one who both teams fight over not having; the man who is next in queue when someone buys the last sachet of ketchup from the snack bar the one time that he has just bought 15 onion rings; the child who is sent to the Headmaster's office for congratulation only to be greeted with the response, " Yes, well that's all very good... but can you tap dance!?!?!?"

Although technically impressive, being the result of mixing any available primary colours, you would expect this mixture of thrilling pigments such as red, blue and yellow to be exciting or, at the very least, vaguely remarkable, but NO! It is just a kind of strange murky orange. But of course that last comment was unfair; it paid no attention to the fact that there are hundreds of different shades of this colour. If this fact had been taken properly into account, then you would instead discover that Brown is not just a kind of strange murky orange but about 50 varying shades of strange murky orange and a similar amount of progressively darker shades of maroon with a hint of burgundy.

Unless you are quite a dedicated fan of mud or wood, the latter of which I must admit is not without its charms, it is unlikely that Brown is your favourite colour. Of course, there is an exception to every rule and, of course, in this case, the mouthwatering exception exists in the form of shit. Er, I mean, chocolate.

Who can honestly say that there has been a greater moment in their life than the first time they received one of those huge, 12 kilogram or whatever it is, bars of Dairy Milk. I, myself, can still quite vividly remember my first time.... 

*scene transcends hazily into flashback land* 

It was a dark and stormy night... On the other side of the room lay a large, rectangular shape on the floor. Although it was tainted by the horribly Christmassy wrapping paper, I approached it at the speed of Roman behind a little boy, knowing instinctively what was inside. Tearing away the impurities of the paper,  I slowly, almost religiously, peeled away the Cadbury's seal of approval and endeavored my hand into the colossal, royal purple cardboard packaging. My fingers fell upon cold foil covering contours that were instantly recognisable as the Cadbury's insignia, engraved like some sort of reassuring friend into the substance so precious to me. I could have stayed in that moment forever! World War III could have broken out against a race of four-headed aliens with a particular softspot for quantum disemboweling devices and I would not have been fazed in the slightest!

I even gave each individual segment its own special name. It became quite emotional when I had to say goodbye to some of my favourites; in the short time we'd been together they had become like family to me. One particular sad story is about a young segment called Neville. He was a bright young thing with a great sense of humour and the kinda of looks that could knock any of the girl segments dead. He soon became almost a father figure to me, helping me in the sections of my life that caused me most confusion - dealing with the fairer sex. It was from him that I learned about the "milk and the cocoa beans" and he helped me become the veritable sex beast that I am today. Oh how we had chuckled as we frolicked amongst the daisies mere days earlier, hand in hand. Those days had seemed like years; the happiest of my life. But, all good things had to come to an end and after many tears, the little guy finally accepted his fate.

 That night, I sat up drinking until the break of dawn. Neville's distorted face haunted my dreams, asking me why I did it, why I  didn't set him free. Even the next day as I blew out the 12 candles on my birthday cake (the cheers of happy birthday being pretty fucking painful with a hangover the size of Uranus, I can tell you) I couldn't get him out of my mind. Only after extensive counseling was I fully able to enjoy chocolate once more...

*scene returns to the present. There is a solitary tear rolling down Max's cheek*

Anyway... er... where was I now... O yes, while chocolate is no doubt a beautiful thing, whatever you do, don't let it get too close to you. And remember, A food that makes you cry isn't worth crying over.