Christmas porkies...

Maybe it's just me...but I have to have a pork pie for Christmas. It's as important as Santa, the presents and, erm, all that celebrating the birth of Jesus business. Every year, well, for the last 41, Christmas Day has started off with a big chunk of pork pie, a side order of half a jar of pickled onions and a big dollop of brown sauce. There is no other way. So it was panic stations yesterday, when I nipped out for those final few items of food, only to find that all of the pork pies in the city of Hull had been snapped up before I'd had the chance to get my pork pie lovin' mitts on them. Large supermarkets, small supermarkets, butchers, bakers - every outlet I walked into had shifted their full complement of pies. And it was looking like the same story this morning - and so sick had the shopkeepers got of hearing the likes of me asking for the whereabouts of the pies that they'd put up exclamation mark-ridden signage. Yet, just as I thought the game was up, we decided to have a stroll to the Crusty Cob. And there it was, manna from heaven, the holy grail, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle, the pork pie I craved. And there was another one along side it. So I bought two! Hurrah!