Save the earth! It’s the only planet with chocolate…

Anonymous

Birmingham. Place of multi-culture, a bronze (looking) bull, the Shakespeare Pub and last - but definitely not least - an institution that has been around for generations. I have experienced the euphoric smell of the glass-and-a-half classic in its molten form - a liquid pleasure that translates into a perfect moment on the lips. The shining brown swirl of edible happiness as it collapses into the trenches of a mixing machine, a cup of sweet-sensation…

Breathin.

Breathout.

Sigh…

Let me explain more fully, shall I?

The adventure started on my birthday. The weather, it must be said, was on form. It bucketed down, so much so that my birthday (BBQ/Braai/Food cooked with fire) was forced to move into the restaurant of the Royal Oak Inn, Meavy. I had with me a team of experts to help with my party preparations. They are as follows:

Tom: Tapdancer.

Madz (Madeleine) : Madz.

Becky: Can cook soup.

Jimmy: Asleep.

I had given an estimated T.O.S (Time Of Startage) at 5:30pm. At 3:30, end of lunch shift, Tom (17, has a land rover - his first car) drove Madz and I to Tesco’s. We raced in to buy the ingredients for a cake that I had designed which had the appearance of a chocolate. The shop was closing. Time was ticking. Tom had to shimmy past a Tesco worker in order to obtain some cream from the dairy aisle. I tried to buy myself some Pimms. I was I.D’d. I did not have I.D. I did not buy Pimms. Back in the car, on the road, arrive at Tom’s house. Sit and talk to his mother about Wimbledon. Match on. Federer vs Nadal. She asks if I have been following the tournament. I say I have. I tell her that I am supporting Federer. She says she is not. There is an uncomfortable moment in which I wonder why we had to take our shoes off upon entering the house. I offer her some of the *forthcoming attraction* cake. The awkward moment passes. I am allowed to put my shoes on as I leave.

On the road again. Get to Becky’s. Go inside quickly to have a look at the chicks which she is keeping alive by the warmth of the stove. Stroke her cat. Back in the Land Rover. Fetch a cheese cutter from Madz’s house. Go to the pub. Run upstairs. Start to prepare food. Want to ask Jimmy how to use the mixer. Asleep on the couch. Dammit dammit dammit. Jimmy wakes up - I get chased downstairs to Mingle, as everyone has arrived at 5.

It.

Finally.

Slows.

Down.

We gathered within the hallowed walls of the Oak and proceeded to ingest as much sugar as possible. The bowl of chewables (salad bowl size, mind) was consumed within minutes. The guests, hyped up on various forms of tartazine, wolfed down some burgers before heading onto the final course - CAKE! Jimmy baked a chocolate sponge filled with fresh strawberries and cream; iced with a mocha cream. Amazing… Yum yum yum. Lizzie, the lady with whom I am going to be staying at the end of July, brought 2 cream cakes. And Kim bought me a mini toffee cake. We had an excellent evening, sitting around a table laughing at Tom’s impression of Bill the Canadian’s snigger and the various other antics of the Royal Oak staff (to be detailed in a later entry). When the last people had gone, I tidied up the left overs and transported my gifts up to Jimmy’s room. I took a quick break to see him and Rebecca off for their three weeks in South Africa, before heading back to pack my bag and ready myself for my trip up to London.

As soon as I was ready, I went over to Rebecca’s house as Linda, Rebecca’s mother, was taking me to the bus stop for my departure at 3:30am. At this point I had not yet slept. I had a nap on the couch before setting off to catch the bus. The bus arrived around four (details regarding the bus system to follow in a later entry entitled ‘The Curious Incident of the Bus in the Night Time’). I was operating under the pretence that it would be possible for me to sleep on the coach - I didn’t factor in things such as the overhead lights flickering to life every time the bus stopped. This was somewhat distracting. I did not sleep.

This gave me time to ponder exactly how I was going to get from Heathrow to Picadilly by 10am, the time indicated by Pietie, who I would be meeting to catch the train to Birmingham. The rush continued… Arrive at Heathrow, run to catch the tube, stare at the map constantly so that I don’t miss my train. Change over at Leicester Square. Get off at Picadilly. Phone Pietie. No answer. Panic. 10am has gone. More panic. Pietie phones. The train is only at 10:40 - he just wanted to make sure that I was there in time. P.R.A.T. Buys me some breakfast. I like him again. We hop on to the train to Birmingham. But an hour later, we are there, taking pictures of the bull’s package and humorously shaped buildings. After many enquiries, we are directed to the bus which we need to catch in order to reach our final destination. Board the bus, don’t have to pay, and get off in the town of Bourneville.

At this point, you might have some idea as to where it is that we are going. If not, read on, dear warrior, and thou shalt receive the answer - a sign pointing to the left states that we have but to walk down the road to reach it. The one. The only (in the area).

The Chocolate Factory.

Welcome to Bourneville, home of the Cadbury’s Chocolate Factory in Birmingham.

I skip down the path and through the parking lot, my eyes peeled for a puppet show, WillyWonka, a giant walking Twix. Nothing. Not even a sweet wrapper (the cleaners must be commended). We continue through the plants - the gardeners are not quite as practised as the cleaning staff, obviously. Then spot it - a sign. Literally. We take a picture, and follow where it points. And suddenly it appears, like a glowing golden beacon of light : a Cream Egg Car. Yes. A car shaped like a massive Cream Egg. I’m so excited that I trip over the side walk. The doors slide apart to allow us into the entrance hall. Prancing about happily and completely oblivious to the fact that I can’t even smell chocolate, I rush up to the counter and purchase two tickets into the factory. They point us in the direction of the first tour. They hand me a bag. I want to cry with happiness. They put into this bag a Twirly-whirly and a small bag of chocolate buttons. They also put Pietie’s Twrily-whirly and chocolate buttons into this same bag. I think that they are overly optimistic if they think that the two of us are going to be unable to fill this bag with freebies. We enter the doors to the first tour.

It is… rather strange. More like a natural history museum featuring an exhibit of under-clothed Aztecs who have angry/constipated expressions. There is no one handing out chocolate. I assume that this is the introductory phase and that they wish for the visitors to remain as level-headed as possible for as long as possible. I dutifully read every plaque detailing the history of Chocolate - the drink flavoured with chilli - and how the Incas had developed a sophisticated counting system. Their numerals were based on the shape of a cocoa-bean and they were so advanced that they devised the number zero. This does not surprise me, as zero chocolates is what I’ve experienced since my arrival. Ever the optimist, I continue through the developmental stage and familiarise myself with characters such as Montezuma, the ruler who along with the Spanish destroyed their entire culture. They worshipped him as a god. They also sacrificed half their nation to make the gods happier. Personally, I thought they sounded like geniuses.

The museum goes on and on. I am yet to see/eat some chocolate. I feel cheated. We then reach a darkened room with four black boxes positioned in a line alongside one another. The show starts with the first box lighting up to show a set where there are awesome looking ruins and I think that possibly a war scene is going to break out at any moments. Hopefully there will be singing puppets. I must say that I was kind of set on the singing puppets. A hologram appears. It is dressed as a Spanish explorer. It speaks with an English accent, which leads me to believe that it is suffering from a serious identity crisis. It harps on about how the Spaniards nicked the recipe for chocolate before wiping out all civilisation in the area. Good lads. Behind Identity-Crisis, a mini war does in fact break out. Two little holograms swing swords at one another in a manner reminiscent of Troy - only the hologram isn’t as good-looking as Brad Pitt.

The light dims in the first box and then lights up the second. The British hologram, now dressed in a French outfit (he doesn’t seem to be making any friends in the audience), explains how the recipe for Chocolate. the drink, was exposed to the French when the Spanish married off their heir to the French crown. The third one obviously wasn’t very affecting, as I can’t remember it. The last one has the hologram dressed as one of the Tudors. He seems to have come into his own, and is not afraid to express his happiness as Chocolate being made available to the common Englishman. But not South Africans, obviously, as I have not been given ANY! I eat my twirly-whirly in retaliation. I wave it in front of the hologram teasingly. It is unable to express its agitation that it is a patch of projected colour and cannot eat Twirly-whirly. I triumph. Take that, you multi-cultured prat.

The next section has a talking, disembodied head that claims to be Mr. Cadbury himself. Yes. We’re all completely fooled… Even the display boxes in the ‘Mr. Cadbury’s pretend shop’ don’t contain chocolate. Is it me? Is it a dream? Have I overslept on Linda#s couch and missed my coach? WHERE IS THE CHOCOLATE? The bloody room has painted cobbles. Who paints bloody cobbles? I am staring to feel like I’ve lost my mind. Clutching onto the final bit of my sanity, I glance about for the exit point. There is a pair of doors which have a notice stating ‘Keep clear of the doors’. Every person in the room aside from Pietie and I seem to be attempting to squeeze themselves into the path of the opening doors. They all scuttle backwards as they swing inwards, looking scandalised. How DARE the doors do exactly what the notice warned against? The cheek! The absolute NERVE of it all! I rush into the next chamber, barely listening to a woman making an announcement about how people of a nervous disposition or those suffering from epilepsy should sit down in the last two rows of the benches. If she’d told me that the benches were, cocoa based, I might have listened. As it was standing, she didn’t look sugary or dark brown. I sat down in the centre of on the the middle rows.

Now, this is the really sad part of the story - the first chocolate that I saw at the Cadbury’s Factory was in a video. Things were looking bad. They were forcing upon us images of the production process. The disembodied head was explaining everything step for step. I’m sure it was sniggering at us. And then, quite suddenly - as the Ghost of Chocolate past talked about shelling some or other nut - the benches started to shake. At first, I thought that I was experiencing my first earthquake (and possibly my last. I wished that I had eaten a Twix on the way in.) But no, they were pretending we were the cocoa beans. Everytime the cocoa beans were shaken on the video, we were shaken on the benches. It ended. Violated, I tried to flee. The doors wouldn’t open. I panicked. The doors opened. We were released…

Freedom - its something you take for granted until you’re placed on a shaking chair in a room being brain-washed into thinking that you have already received copious amounts of chocolate when you have not, in fact, received anything but Twirly-whirly and chocolate buttons. A small packet of chocolate buttons. History lesson over with - we went into the building where what I believed to be the ‘rumoured’ Cadbury’s chocolate should be manufactured. The door opened.

Breathin

Breathout

Sigh…

And finally - after 2.5371 hours, I saw it - I do believe that this was where I started - the shining brown swirl of edible happiness as it collapses into the trenches of a mixing machine, a cup of sweet-sensation… I experienced the euphoric smell of the glass-and-a-half classic in its molten form - a liquid pleasure that translates into a perfect moment on the lips. What I’m trying to get at is that I’ve seen a massive vat of melted chocolate. Unfortunately for me, it was behind glass that appeared to be two inches thick. But it was a gorgeous sight, moist and thick and brown and sweet and yummy and cocoay and the SMELL! My knees were weak. I was in love. I walked out on a cloud.

Ok. So I only received a couple of chocolates. So I had to sit in a little car and go through a tunnel where there were singing cocoa beans and dancing flowers. So I was a little sketched out by the mouth which kept repeating the phrase “It’s chocolate” when, in fact, it wasn’t.

Sowhat…

It was an experience that I won’t forget, an amazing day with a hundred laughs and a thousand memories.

Call me crazy. Call me a fool for enjoying myself even though it was well below par from the related experieces of others who have been there.

Calll me whatever you want, in fact, as long as you call me Charlie.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

BlackSheep out.