Cock

Easter has been and gone and we have consumed most of our chocolate stash.

Both of them.

I'm constantly amazed, every year, by the huge variety of styles, flavours, wrappings and shapes of those goodies that Easter is all about - chocolate.

In keeping with the theme of pastoral renewal and bucolic continuance there's all these little rabbits and big rabbits and fucking huge, 3 kilogram rabbits, and eggs, hollow eggs and solid eggs and eggs with lollies and chocolates inside them (overkill, methinks. Of course that's only cos I didn't get one) and marshmallow ones in foil and ones not in foil, big ones and little ones, and there's little Easter baskets with eggs in them surrounded by cute little yellow and white chicks and even the occasional hen, but, while you may see chicks and hens, the one thing you never, ever see is a giant chocolate cock.

Not in the supermarket, anyway.

Meanwhile, they had nailed that in New York until the Catholics complained.


(New York's chocolate Jesus)

I just think it's in very poor taste to depict him this way.