Sweating confectionary

The last few weeks, there's been a charity raffle gathering steam for Easter at work in which the prize is a MASSIVE chocolate Easter egg. Not quite as stupidly big as the one to your left, but not far off. Certainly big enough to house a baby. Or an Oompa Loompa.

I didn't win it.

I suppose I should be thankful. I have been wheening off the fatty foods lately, wheening onto the exercise in an attempt to shed a few blobs of adipose. But c'mon... who WOULDN'T want to win a chocolate egg the size of this guy? Exactly.

The winner - a teacher - ultimately gave the beast to the same charity who made a good wadge of money out of it. Better that than getting in the hands of some little oik who'll eat him or herself to chronic obsesity and end up waddling around the school like something from a crappy 50's B-movie, literally sweating confectionary.

I don't see the big deal about Easter, anyway. Sure, to the 'JESUS ROCKS!!' squad it's a great couple of days, but to Joseph Public by and large it's just become a license to become greater fat fucks than we are already. I'm only looking forward to two things about Easter - 1) my upcoming three long-weekends off work and 2) the latest Doctor Who special, which has deserts, a London bus, bee-like aliens and Michelle Ryan.

Need I say more?