The other week in a moment of reckless abandon at the football I ordered a drink of Bovril for the first time in about 20 years – seriously! The last time I remember drinking it I was at Enfield FC. I should first of explain that my local Co-op has been accurately described as being something out of Soviet Russia – the choice isn’t exactly overwhelming. So when I couldn’t find it I wasn’t exactly surprised. Next stop was Waitrose where much searching later revealed an out of stock notice adjacent to the Oxo. Never mind – I’ll pick one up at the Tesco near work.
So this evening I stopped by and was faintly surprised to find it in stock given that the store’s raison d’etre is to sell pre-cooked meals.
As it turned out I was close to missing the train at Finsbury Park so I had to run up the stairs. As I reached the top I heard my train. I ran faster.
Smash!
My carrier bag split and one brand new jar of Bovril hit the concrete in a mix of broken glass and brown syrup. All �2.67 of it.
And I missed my train.
With half an hour to kill I visited a couple of other convenience shops, but the best I could come up with was Marmite.
Am I fated never to taste Bovril again? (Well obviously not, I’ll just have to go and buy another jar. But that doesn’t make a good end to an entry does it?)