When I was a lad

When I was younger - years ago - we had proper licorice. I was thinking of this earlier as Nic and I procrastinated outside 101 while drinking coke, eating licorice and eavesdropping on evangelical North Americans discussing how Jesus died for Hitler. I'm stunned. If I'd known about Hitler back in 33AD I would have focused my impressive powers of foresight on the local gladatorial league and put my money on Maximus instead of Minimus. Damn.

The licorice we were eating was soft, flavoursome and somewhat enjoyable. This is not how licorice should be. Licorice should be how it was when I was younger. Down by Tairei Mouth, South Otago there used to be a dairy by the sea. We'd stay in the crib we had there every so often. On Sundays Dad would walk down to the dairy to purchase the paper with little Dave and little Greg and buy us a lolly. I would inevitably go for either the licorice or the fake cigarettes which made me look 7 and therefore grownup. For 50 cents you could get this huge piece of licorice. It would take an age to eat because it was so tough. You would bite into it and get a migraine. This was usually solved by going for a swim or running into a tree. The licorice had a tough, rubbery texture. It was long, wide and had grooves in it, and smelled like the dust that came into the store from cars driving past the dairy after going over the metal roads that zig-zagged the area. Sadly there were one or two downsides. Whenever we took the car anywhere where there might be kids we had to leave Greg standing guard over the car in case any of the locals started gnawing on the tires. You'd be surprised how scary a three year old with a baseball bat can be. Even to a five year old who had fake sugary cigarettes. He'd take my smokes and beat me. I was sad. Fortunately it was the eighties and no-one seemed to notice.