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all. The only meals they could afford were bread and margarine for breakfast, boiled potatoes and cabbage for lunch, and cabbage soup for supper. Sundays were a bit better. They all looked forward to Sundays because then, although they had exactly the same, everyone was allowed a second helping.
And oh, how he wished he could go inside the factory and see what it was like!
The picture showed a nine-year-old boy who was so enormous he looked as though he had been blown up with a powerful pump.
WONKA’S WHIPPLE-SCRUMPTIOUS FUDGEMALLOW DELIGHT, it said on the wrapper.
‘The thing to remember,’ Grandma Georgina said, ‘is that whatever happens, you’ll still have the bar of chocolate.’
‘Despicable!’ said Grandma Georgina. ‘She’ll come to a sticky end one day, chewing all that gum, you see if she doesn’t.’
The children and their parents were too flabbergasted to speak. They were STAGGERED. They were AWESTRUCK. They were BEWILDERED and DAZZLED.
To hell wih this.
