Never let it be said that 2016 was not, at least, creative in the ways in which it delivered bad news. We have had Bowie, Brexit, Trump and, now, in this darkest of 12 months, it seems even the beloved British biscuit scene is crumbling.
In a harsh world, you may hope to find unique comfort in a big brew and a few biscuits. However, it seems that, even in this regard, you are increasingly out of step with the habits and aspirations of your fellow Britons.
According to retail analyst Kantar Worldpanel, £25.7m has been wiped off the annual sales of everyday biscuits. The nation is turning its back on dunking, and sales of traditional chocolate-covered biscuit bars, such as KitKats and Penguins, are likewise in decline.
We have urged one another: if you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit, join our club. And, it appears, in a split as profound as Brexit (but harder to swallow), significant numbers of people have said no, we do not want chocolate on our biscuits. We want to swap that Viscount for perceived healthier alternatives, such as Belvita cookies, made with whole grains and berries (sales up £9m, says analyst Neilsen).
OK, you may grudgingly respect someone who changes their favourite biscuit brand in the name of health. But the news that, simultaneously, Oreo’s UK sales have risen by £12m is more difficult to digest. True, this is the year of dim-witted Brits being dazzled by cheap, tacky Americans (look at Farage toadying around Trump), but, in a world where McVitie’s chocolate digestives exist, it is flabbergasting that people are being tempted by the icky, synthetic flavours of the Oreo, that bastardised bourbon.
The British biscuit industry must launch a concerted PR fightback lest we forget the art of, say, splitting a custard cream and painstakingly licking off the fondant before, the biscuit now all wet with saliva, eating the remaining half. (Apologies if you are getting aroused, but that is biscuits: sexy.)
Do we want to deny children the exquisite terror of eating a Jammie Dodger and, momentarily, thinking that its nugget of jam will tear out one of their fillings? In 20 years, will people happen across Peter Kay’s classic biscuit routine on YouTube and need to Google “dunking”? Will they never know that he was wrong about Hobnobs and their habit of turning into a gritty slurry when dunked?
You can help in this fightback, too. We proud dunkers must be open and frank, in order to maintain the ancient traditions and dunking techniques for future generations. In the office, proclaim the joys of dunking. Explain how a ginger biscuit is transformed by being dipped in tea (how that now intensely gingery, soft outer pulp encases a still toffeeish inner core) or, without drooling too much, talk a hitherto-disgusted colleague through the molten pleasures of the fully-dunked chocolate digestive.
It is too easy in 2016 for right-thinking people to feel hopeless. Get out there. Be the change you want to see. Buy a packet of Rich Tea.
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