I know we’re not the only ones, because if we were they wouldn’t exist, so we, err, wouldn’t be.
Since about 5BC (before children) it’s been a loosely-followed tradition in our household that Friday night is curry night. Probably because back then we’d get home from work on a Friday evening and there was a good curry house just around the corner that delivered and it was all just too easy. Probably fortunately for our bank balance, now the nearest curry house is several miles away and doesn’t deliver so we make our own.
Sometimes, we fail to achieve the required degree of arse and purchase plastic poppadoms to accompany the meal. You know how it works (and it’s not only poppadoms)… You spend ten minutes trying to locate the corner that peels off whilst your meal sits on the plate uneaten and then a further five attempting to remove the “film” top with fingers, teeth, pliers and a hammer until everything on your plate is the same temperature as the mango chutney you just got out of the fridge. Eventually, after an outburst of swearing, you get up from the table and find a kitchen knife to stab through the film into the tabletop and finally get access to the incarcerated crispy comestibles.
The packaging designers however are evil. Sometimes the film starts to peel off without requiring a trip to the workshop to fetch the jigsaw. Only what you discover as it comes away is that the film actually delaminates and you’re left with a piece of printed plastic in one hand and a still-sealed packet of poppadoms in the other.
I’ve no idea how they achieve this feat, but if I ever find out who is responsible I shall force-feed them ghost chiles until something explodes.
