Traditional confectionery

Sweets in jars

For years generations of British children have enjoyed traditional, quality confectionery, served to them in dark and musty cornershops around the country, on their way to and from school. And whilst these youngsters devoured their sweet bounty, both they and their parents could rest easy knowing that they were consuming only the best of treats at a good, honest down to earth price. However dark times were to come, when the giants of the candy industry would break from these age old values and put their own profits and needs before those of the loyal consumer...

The 1970s Texan Bar

The End of the Texan. And Worse.

The insipid rot in the confectionery industry began in the early 80s when the world's greatest chocolate treat, the Texan bar, ceased production. Despite protests the length and breadth of Bridligton High Street, the rock hard, yet ridiculously chewy-once-you-got-it-going chocolate covered nougat bar was to be no more. So the public, mourning the demise of a snack-time instituiton, had to take solace in the other timeless favorites such as the Mars bar and Marathon.

After 10 years of wandering a barren, desolate, Texan Bar-less earth, the masses were just about coming to terms with their loss, when the giant of the chocolate industry, Mars, decided to once more kick the people when they were down.

They renamed the Marathon to Snickers.

It was a sickening blow to the entire country. It was like finding your elderly Grandmother had been brutally beaten for a few coppers from the bottom of her moth-eaten purse. Like discovering your loyal, family dog strung up in the porch, flies buzzing round the open gash where its throat had been slit. Like seeing your only child being hit by a speeding, drunk driver, their smashed and lacerated body being tossed in the air, only to land in a crumpled, lifeless mess in the gutter. Like discovering your parents are Welsh.

A Marathon bar and a (spit) Snickers

The Marathon Bar Has Run its Course

Defying literally thousands of years of British tradition, the Marathon was no more. The packaging was changed to conform to American standards. It was a disgusting display of cost cutting and pandering to the desires of overbearing, faceless, American scum-sucking corportaions.

"We need to cut costs to remain profitable...", they said.

"We want to create a global brand to increase product recognition...", they whined.

"Our customers want a new, fresh face to their favourite snacks...", they chirped.

"Bollocks", cried the British, "you just want to line your pockets and award youselves big, fat bonuses for being so clever. You want to drive out tradition, individuality and creativity and replace it with your evil, monopolistic, omnipotent chocolate." But the cries of our tiny little island were not to be heard all the way across the Atlantic, and the Marathon was gone. With little choice the public were forced to switch to Snickers for their daily fill of peanuts, chocolate and caramel (but not Arthur who has refused to eat them at all unless he is on holiday in the US, where it's perfectly acceptable)

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